


Too much

by NatyCeleste



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Psychological Trauma, Reunions, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Violence, bucky comes back, mild Self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 82,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatyCeleste/pseuds/NatyCeleste
Summary: This is Bucky's story starting right after he saves Steve from the river. Except this time, he can't stay away for long.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 162
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

I'm dripping wet, that's gonna draw attention. Part of my brain registers that fact, but I can't bring myself to care as I walk away from the man on the side of the river. He's still breathing, and he seems strong, so I think he'll be ok. 

As I march slowly down the river, I listen to the helicopter coming closer. I hide instinctively, but they're not here for me, they're going to take him. I watch them fly away. I watch _him_ getting away from me. Probably my only link to who I used to be. 

Is that even true? I know I knew him. But my brain can't seem to place him. Everything feels… scrambled. Upside-down. Too much. 

The sky's still too bright for me to go unnoticed in a city like this one. My instructions burn even brighter behind my eyelids: kill the man in the picture, go back to the base. But the man in the picture is still alive, and I'm the only one to blame. I try to feel guilty, but I just don't. I really don't. I try again when I decide I won't be going back, but it's a lost cause. Maybe I'm malfunctioning. Maybe I've become a liability and they'll have to do something about it. Maybe they'll have to take me out. 

An abandoned building gives me a place to stay until the light dims and the city is safer. I slowly realize that I _want_ to stay away. It's not just a decision, it's something I want. I don't remember wanting something before. Maybe saving the man from dying in the river, but that feels a lot more like something I couldn't avoid. Like something I _had_ to do. 

I sit in the far corner of a dark windowless room, and think about his words. They replay inside my head _"You're my friend"._ Was I? Nothing about him was indicating a lie. Not his tone, not his eyes, not his gestures. Everything about him exuded sincerity. But it couldn't be true. 

_"I'm with you to the end of the line"_

I've heard that before. I think I've _said_ that before. Did I say it to him? 

I sit still for what feels like hours, staring at the wall and allowing my mind to wander aimlessly through the events of the day. They told me the way that man calls himself: _"Captain America"_. I try it out loud, but it doesn't ring any bells. They said I didn't need to know anything else. Just his pseudonym, his address and where he'd be. Why wouldn't they tell me his name? 

I try to remember how he called me. The name that’s supposed to be mine. My mind feels clouded, obscured. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it away from my face, and I rest my head on the wall behind me.

The room is cold. Too cold. But I welcome the shivering and the prickling sensation in my skin. I welcome the pain in my right shoulder, and the bruise I can feel forming in my hip. I welcome it all, letting it wash over me and overwhelm me. It makes me feel like I am alive. 

I don’t want to go back to the dullness. I can’t. I try to breathe and the air gets caught in my throat. James. He said 'James'. I say it out loud too. It doesn't feel familiar either. 

Everything's so messed up inside my head, I can't even tell what's true and what isn't. I feel a knot forming in my throat and I can't help the tears that fill my eyes. I slowly realize how scared I am. Absolutely _terrified_. They'd kill me if they'd find out I was having a private little breakdown. An assassin, the asset himself, crying his eyes out like a little bitch, hiding in a dark room. 

It was shameful… But once I started, it was like years worth of crying came over me. I cried because I couldn't remember my name, I cried for what I lost and out of pure fear. I cried for him and his words, in case they were true and in case they were lies. I cried because I was crying and I wasn't supposed to. Because I was weak, and I'd get punished.

By the time I calm down and get on my feet, almost out of habit, my clothes feel like they froze from the cold, sticking to my skin, biting it. I wonder what happened to the man in the aircraft. He looked so broken… not when I was dragging him out of the water, but before. He looked so sure when he told me to finish my mission. Was he really willing to die, or did he trust that I wouldn't kill him? Does it matter? 

I try to run my right hand across my face and my arm complains with a rush of pain. My shoulder is dislocated. 

Without even thinking about it, I extend my arm in front of myself and pull by my wrist with my other hand, setting it straight with one quick move. The pain gets sharper, numbing my right side and creeping up my neck, and I suffocate a hiss. I'm not supposed to complain about stuff like this. I'm not _allowed_ to complain. 

I concentrate on my breathing for a couple of seconds, trying to ease it while I calculate the damage I took to the rest of my body. Too much. I can't do anything about the injuries in my back, my hip or my leg, but I think none of them is permanent. The pain in my arm is already slowly dissipating, and I'm able to think again. 

"My name is James" I say out loud, and this time I _know_ I've said it before. It feels formal, somewhat out of place, but familiar nonetheless. Maybe I misheard, and it was something similar. Maybe I'm just lying to myself, believing it just because I want to. 

I briefly consider looking for a mirror, but the mere idea frizes me in place. I think I couldn't handle it right now. Too much. Everything's too much. 

The need to follow my mission, to report my failure and present myself for disciplinary measures is almost unbearable. My feet keep trying to take me to them. I back up to my corner again and slide down to the floor, pressing my legs to my chest and hugging my own head. I don't want to go back. 

The darkness takes over like I haven't slept in days. 

When I wake up, I know the night has fallen. My first thought goes to the man in the river. The second one goes to my stomach, to the hollow pinch of discomfort I can feel in it. _I'm hungry,_ I realize after a moment. I don't even know how long it's been since the last time I ate. I remember needles and pills, but I can't recall any food. I'm _starving_. 

There's still a sharp knife hanging on the side of my leg, and I know I could use it to rob someone and get something to eat… hell, I could even do it without the knife, but I don't want to. Something about it makes me feel uneasy. I don't want to hurt anyone. I pull myself up reluctantly. I'll have to do _something_. 

I end up walking around the neighborhood, doing my very best not to draw unwanted attention. I grab a few unattended things without anyone noticing. A coat off the back of a chair in a bar, the briefcase of someone waiting for the bus, a forgotten hat on a park bench. Nothing major, just what I need.

The jacket hardly fits, but it calms the shaking a bit and helps with the sensation that I'm about to freeze. Isn't it supposed to be hot? People aren't wearing too many clothes or big jackets, so it can't be that cold. It doesn't seem to be winter.

I walk in an alley and force the briefcase's lock to see what's inside. There's a few things, including some cash, and I sigh in relief. I take everything, distribute it in my pockets without even paying attention to what I'm taking, and I dispose of the empty briefcase in a dumpster nearby. 

I choose the nearest food stand and order the same as the person standing before me in line. 

I get a 'spicy hot dog with everything and a coke'. At least that's what the cook says when he gives it to me. I pay, say thank you and retreat to eat alone. 

It tastes like heaven and I devour the entire thing in less than a minute. My stomach feels like I haven't eaten in years. I think it might be true. I gulp the sweet beveridge and breathe again. Everything's a little bit better now. Not as sharp, not as loud, but it's still too much. I need to get away from the crowd, so I buy another hot dog and head back to the abandoned building, eating as I walk. 

This time I allow myself to roam around the place a bit more, making sure there's no one else with me. Five floors, no working elevators, two entrances on the ground floor, one exit on the top one, heading to the roof. 

I mentally register all the possible escaping points as I walk up, floor by floor, just out of habit. There's a few mattresses in one of the larger rooms on the fifth floor, and needles on a corner, although it's pretty obvious that no one's been here in a long time. I take one of the worn blankets and throw it around my shoulders. It smells like shit, but the cold subsides a bit more, so it's worth it. 

I go back down the stairs and settle on a small room with no furniture. The third floor gives me advantage if someone breaks into the building from both the ground floor and the roof. Straight ahead of me there's a window I can jump out of if they come from both sides, I can land on the roof of the small building right next to this one. 

I sit on the floor again, guarding the door frame for a while. There's not much for me to do but think. Maybe I can figure out my link to Capitan America tomorrow. I can go to a library or something. Do some research.

I lay down with my head away from the door and resting on my arm. Everything aches. I feel like the nightmares begin even before I can truly fall asleep. I can't get the scientists out of my mind, their pale white coats walking around me babbling about stuff I don't understand, the doctors poking at me and cutting me open like I'm a fucking rag doll. It's too much. Why can't they leave me alone? Why can't I think about something else? _Anything_ else. 

_"I'm with you to the end of the line"_ the thought bursts through all the others, pushing everything else aside. The look in his eyes when he said it accompanies it. His voice dripping sincerity, his eyes begging for me to listen. He looked at me like I was something - _someone-_ other than… other than _this_. A knot forms in my throat as I hold on to that, letting it take me peacefully into unconsciousness. 


	2. Chapter 2

When I wake up, the name he said is clear in my mind. A bright piece of certainty in the middle of the dark mess that it is my brain. 

James Buchanan Barnes. I used to  _ be _ this person. I used to be  _ someone _ . I take a couple of minutes to process that fact, letting it sink in while I look at the worn down wallpaper. I slowly realize that I don't really like it's color. Too yellow, too many dark flowers on it. I try to remember if I used to have a house, if my walls used to look like these ones, or if they were completely different. I search in my memory for a while, but there's nothing there. It's like I'm empty inside. 

A bit frustrated, I put on the hat and jacket to walk around the city again. I drink the rest of someone's cold coffee, and take the money a woman left as a tip on one of the outdoor tables of a coffee shop. It'll be enough to get some food later. 

The city doesn't feel so cold anymore, so I roam a bit more. I listen to the people that pass me by, and I understand that this is my language. It feels familiar, comfortable. I'm sure that I've heard soft, tender words in it, although I can't actually remember someone saying them. The realization comes, and I feel like it should've been really obvious: I'm not Russian. Far from it.  _ How far gone do you have to be to forget your own place of birth?  _ I hadn't really stopped to think I  _ had  _ one. 

After a few hours, a newspaper near a dumpster catches my attention as I walk by it, and I get into an alley to look at it. The name looks familiar, but the year written on the front page makes me tremble while I crouch on the dirty floor. It brings a certain uneasiness to my head. Like I needed more of that. I don't know the exact date, but that one certainly doesn't seem right. It  _ can't _ be right. 

And then I remember myself buying a newspaper like this one, and I know the memory's from a long time ago. The same name written on the top of the page: 'New York Times'. The first words of the title underneath the name are clear as water in my mind: 'U.S. declares war'. I remember reading it on a crowded sidewalk, and the shame that came right after the fleeting fear of knowing that I would fight. 

I walk a little faster after that, trying to make sense of it all. My heart is trying to push its way out of my chest. The title I can see in my head is wrong, and the year has to be wrong too. I was born long enough to be dead. I  _ know  _ that.

My breathing is getting too jacked up. The streets are too crowded, the sounds are too loud, the voices are too many. I barely make it to the building before I'm losing control. I can't keep my breathing calm nor my heartbeat steady. It feels like I'm drowning, like I can't breathe or think properly. 

_ I remember.  _

I remember, and I can't keep the tears from silently running down my face. Something gets in my way as I walk and I hear it crush against the farthest wall long before realizing I'm the one who threw it. 

Bucky. _I'm Bucky._ I fall to my knees as little pieces of my life start coming back to me. They're out of order and in a clouded mess, but they're there. Sitting on the sidewalk watching the cars passing by. Eating a cookie from a glass jar. A young girl wearing a blue dress. Running down a street and into an alley after hearing something that catches my attention, the panic I feel because someone could be hurting him. _Him._ _Steve._ The man's name is Steve. I remember him saying _my_ name, and talking to me in a park. I remember eating a sandwich with him while we talk about something he did earlier. I remember his voice, and his eyes. _God, how did I forget Stevie?_

I'm clinging to the floor, desperate for something to hold on to while my head spins wildly. I feel like I'm back in that ride I got on to with Steve, in that fair we visited so many years ago. I could throw up. I feel like I'm about to. 

_ What the hell have I done?  _

Stevie's hurt, and it's all because of me. My damn fault.  _ I  _ hurt him. I almost  _ killed  _ him. The weight of that statement settles on my shoulders, bringing me a bit closer to the ground.  _ What kind of monster would do something like that?  _

I force myself to breathe and calm down. Steve's ok. That chopper took him, he'll be fine. He has to be. I'll give myself a heart attack if I keep thinking about that, but I can't seem to stop. 

\---

The memories feel disjointed and somehow hollowed, but they do start to come back to me in the days to follow. Anything feels important: the rules to a board game, the lyrics to an old song, the taste of something sweet… 

On one of my scavenger-walks through the city, I hear some people talking while they pass me by. Captain America is recovering in a hospital nearby. My heart jumps at the information, but I can't ask them for more. They don't seem to have insights, anyway. It just sounds like something they've heard from someone else. Like a rumor or just gossip. 

I ask someone for directions and go to the hospital either way. I can immediately tell it's the truth because of the guards posted outside of the building. Too many. I would get caught in seconds if I'd tried to get in there. At least if I'd tried to do it without killing or hurting anyone. 

I honestly don't trust myself to keep control being in a situation like that. I don't want to know what would happen if someone threatened me or pointed a gun at me right now. So going in is not even an option, I know that… but I stay hidden outside anyway, looking at the windows and trying to imagine which room he's in. I wish I could know if he's alright, I wish I could tell him that I'm sorry. 

A few days later, I'm exploring the city again when I walk past a museum that announces an exhibit about him. I go inside almost without a second thought. I'm wearing the hat I stole, and my arm is safely hidden under the jacket, so it should be just fine. 

The voices are too loud, and the pictures are too bright, but I want to see him. I want to know what happened.

There's old movies of us, and my breath gets caught in my throat. It's so weird to look at myself, it almost feels like it's someone else. 

I keep walking and find a small screen where we're both standing side by side, talking and laughing. How can I look so happy in the middle of a war? And then Steve -the one on the screen- puts his hand on my shoulder and I know it's because of him. I remember how it feels. The camaraderie, the trust, the feeling of being comfortable with someone. The feeling of knowing he's got my back. 

I keep walking because I think I might start crying if I don't. The longing for that feeling is too much for me to handle, so I push it aside, try to ignore it as best as I can. My feelings are all over the place. 

My eyes catch a huge picture of myself in the middle of a room and I walk towards it. I start reading the text on its side as I approach. It says I was born in 1916, and that I was the oldest of four siblings. Their faces flash before my eyes, but their names remain a mystery. It's pointless to focus on that. 

I scan through the rest of the memorial. It says I was captured and tortured by Hydra, but I already knew that. I remember those days almost too well, although they're scrambled with the tortures that came after. I remember fighting alongside Steve, and how safe I used to feel when I knew he was by my side in the battlefield. 

The name of our team brings back memories of the others. The Howling Commandos. Their laughters, and the way we used to talk about our missions during the nights, sitting around improvised bonfires. I sigh and walk away. Everything I get to remember is just another thing that I have lost. Every piece of information is about things that time has already taken from me.

I walk past the hospital on my way to the building, and the guards are still posted there. They don't see me, but I know I'm pushing my luck showing up every day, so I decide to wait a little longer next time.

_ Big mistake.  _

When I go back a couple days later, I immediately understand that Steve's no longer there. There's no more surveillance, not one guard or agent to be seen. The fear creeps up on me, leaving me gasping for air. What if he didn't make it? What if my mission was successful after all? 

When I start walking down the street I realize that I'm scared. _Completely_ _terrified_. I can barely control myself enough to keep my feet from running. The address written on the back of the picture is still edged into my brain, and my body takes me straight to that place with no hesitation. I don't have any cards in the matter, any objection or logical words. I just need to know if he's alive.

I give up after a few blocks and start running, trying really hard not to exceed the limits of normal humans. I don't want to draw attention, but it's almost beyond my control. The adrenaline caused by the fear is pushing me forward, relentless and unstoppable. 

When I get to the address, I can see that there's people inside the apartment, but it gives me no comfort whatsoever. The curtains are closed, so it might be someone else, someone in charge of arranging his belongings, sorting them out before the news is made public.  _ Please _ don't let that be the case. 

I wait, hiding on the sidewalk, watching the building. I know I've seen it before, but I can't quite put my finger on it. It isn't until a few hours into my surveillance that the thought crosses my mind like it's someone else's:

_ 'I killed someone here'. _ The memories are blurry, but I  _ know _ they're real. My throat closes up with the certainty of that fact. I killed someone in Steve's apartment. I hide my face on my hands and try not to freak out about it, but the heat crawling up my chest is almost unbearable. 

I try to calm down so I can remember the target. Who they were, what their name was… not a single fucking fact comes to mind. Did I kill someone he cared about? Did I kill someone from his team? One of his friends? His girlfriend? 

I remember him running after me, and that I wasn't supposed to kill him, but everything else is a lost cause. 

By the time someone I recognize comes out of the apartment, it's already nighttime and I'm a frustrated panicking mess. I can't remember the guy's name, but I know that he had a suit with wings, and that he must not be too fond of me right now. I don't blame him. 

I wait for a little while longer and then break into the building. I can't handle the fear anymore. Wondering if he's ok, if he's even alive… not knowing is killing me. 


	3. Chapter 3

Breaking in unnoticed is easy, I'm used to it. The lights are off but I can manage just fine. There's no one in the living area, so I walk silently to the bedroom. The door is open, and I can see him fully clothed, laying on the bed. He's _here_. He's alive. 

The light from his window illuminates the room enough for me to see him properly. He looks fine, and I can breathe a little bit more easily. His face is back to normal, not a trace of my attack in it. _I didn't kill him._ I didn't hurt him beyond healing, and I thank God for that. If he had to answer only one of my prayers, I'm glad he picked this one over all the others. I feel like I'm going to cry because of the feeling of relief that goes through my veins. It's a little overwhelming. Or maybe it's because seeing him like this after so long brings back too many memories. 

I know I have to leave. I _should_. But he moves in his sleep and I freeze completely. I can tell he knows I'm here as soon as his brain jumps back into consciousness and his breathing rhythm changes. He moves as quickly as I remember to adopt a defensive position. His eyes meet mine, and I feel like a deer caught by a truck’s headlights. 

A long moment passes in silence, and I feel like I’m pushing my luck. _What the hell am I doing here?_ I feel the panic climbing up my throat when I see the button on his nightstand. I know it’s meant to call for help, and I turn to the door. I need to get out. 

“Wait," he says quickly, and I stop. “Please don’t leave," I turn to him again, breathing heavily. My hands are trembling. My whole fucking body’s trembling. His eyes are cautious. He’s probably terrified of me.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say quietly. There's a promise in those words, but I don't know if he can hear it. I put my hands in the air, showing him my palms, letting him know that I don't have any weapons. 

He’s breathing just as heavily as I am, because he knows I shouldn’t be here just as well as I do. "I'll just leave, don't worry." He frowns, but his posture relaxes a bit, pretty much immediately, his shoulders are set differently now. His eyes look warmer. 

"Buck?" my name in his lips stops the shivers. It makes me smile and want to cry at the same time. I can't remember the last time I smiled. 

"Hey, punk," the words fly out of my lips without me being able to stop them, but he seems to welcome it. I put my hands in my pockets, trying to let him know that I didn't come here to be a threat. My heart is pounding in my chest and I can't do anything to calm myself down. He turns on the light and I flinch a little. I feel safer in the darkness. 

"Is it really you?" he asks, squinting his eyes a bit. I wonder about that myself too. Am I? God, I wish I was.

I decide to be honest with him. There was a time when I could tell him anything. Absolutely anything, and he would've understood. I can't lie to him. He needs to know. "I don’t know. Not completely," I whisper. "Not exactly. I can still feel it inside me, Stevie. Their coding, their programming." The confession lets me breathe a bit easier, but he says nothing, I don't give him enough time. "But I'm here," I add immediately. He needs to know that too. "I'm trying" I say, as if it was a bigger confession than the ones I said before. 

"Do you remember me?" His words are quiet and I swallow nervously before nodding.

"Bits and pieces here and there," I say and I can't tell if that makes him calm or sad. "I remember riding our bikes around the neighborhood. Delivering meat for mister…" my brain doesn't give me a name, so I go silent, looking down at the floor.

"Sullivan," he provides, and my head snaps back up. He offers a small encouraging smile, so I continue.

"I remember him giving us quarters for our services, and telling me that I would take his place when I’d get older." I pause for a bit, trying to get my memories in order, but I can't, but I don't care, I have to keep talking. I want him to know that I'm trying. "I remember you sleeping in my room and us talking till my mom would open the door and tell us to turn off the lights." I can't help but smile "I remember that we would always keep talking after that anyway. In the dark." 

Steve's eyes are filled with tears, and his hand is still nowhere near the button in his nightstand. Silence takes over for a few seconds and he gets up slowly. 

"It's nice to see you, Buck," it's hard not to cry at his tone, but I manage. 

"Is nice to see you too, Stevie." I say right back. He probably has no idea just how much truth is in that statement. But he comes closer, and I step back instinctively, bumping into the dresser. 

"Please, don't," I say, and I reckon my voice cracks. I can tell it hurts him, so I continue. "I think I'm in control, but I don't want to put it to the test, OK?" I keep my voice low so it can't break, "Please, I don't want to hurt you." 

He's about to reply, but then he thinks twice, closes his mouth firmly and nods, stepping back and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"You can have a seat too if you want," he gestures to a chair in the corner and I thank him and take it. It feels weird, like he's examining me, and I realize that I haven't been this nervous in a long _long_ time. The silence builds up until he breaks it.

"Why did you pull me from the river?" The question is quiet, and I can hear the curiosity in his voice. I try to be as honest as I possibly can, but there's not much information I can give him. I don't _have_ much information at all. 

"I'm not sure." I say, and then I sigh. He looks at me until I continue, because he knows that’s not the whole truth. Of course he knows. "I think I wanted to remember. I think a part of me knew you were important. I just didn't realize how much until later, until I remembered you," I offer him a small smile, hoping he understands. 

"And why are you here now?" he adds. I try to talk but I stutter a bit. _Great start, dumbass._ I sigh and try to remember to think before I speak. 

"I've been watching the hospital from time to time," I say. "I knew you were in there but when I came back today the guards were gone and there were no signs of you," there's a knot in my throat, just from remembering the fear I felt during the afternoon. "I figured either they moved you or you- I mean, it wasn't anything sure, but- I needed to see if you were- still-" I realize I'm babbling, and I stop abruptly, letting the air escape from my lungs. I take a moment to put my mind in check, to choose my words carefully, and then I add: "I just wanted to make sure that you were alright," that's a little more to the point. 

He looks at me for a while. "I'm OK," he answers, and then smiles softly. "You should see the other guy." I shake my head. That's Steve, for sure. Joking to try and make me feel better.

"How about you?" he asks, and I shrug. "Your arm's doing fine?" I look down at my mechanic hand, but he clarifies: "the one I broke".

"Oh. Just dislocated. It healed pretty quickly." I can feel his gaze in my face, even as I look down at his feet. When I look at him again he nods slowly and smiles again. "Can I ask you something too?" my words are quieter than I intended them to be, but he still nods again. "Who did I kill when I was here?" I dare to look at him, prepared for the sorrow that comes with remembering a lost loved one, but his brow is furrowed, and I can only see confusion in his eyes. "I remember being here, maybe a couple weeks ago. I know I killed someone through a window… maybe through a wall. I know you chased me, and that I reported the mission as successful… but I can't place their face or name," I explain this as I feel the atmosphere of the room turning more and more unsettling. Steve falls silent, with his eyes fixed on the floor, but I need to know. "Were they important to you?" I whisper, because that's all I really need to know, and he finally looks at me again. He seems to have the weight of the world settled in his shoulders. 

"They didn't die because of you," he says slowly and quietly, and I close my eyes so that he won't see the tears quickly filling them. He's never been a good liar. That inability to lie used to be one of the things I liked most about him, but now I wish I could believe his words. The truth behind them is so clear to me. The guilt crumbles and falls over me, swallowing me whole. 

"I'm _so_ sorry, Stevie," I leave out under my breath, willing my voice not to break and failing miserably. I hide my face in my hands for a second. This whole thing is too much for me. 

"Hey… don't," I hear him standing and taking a step towards me, so I flinch away in the chair, my heartbeat immediately picking up. He can't come near me. He can't get hurt. 

After a few seconds I risk a look at him and it relaxes me a bit to see that he's standing still. He crouches in his place, so that we're eye to eye, and he looks at me until I return his gaze. There's a sad smile in his lips, but I know it's sincere. "Listen to me, ok?" I close my eyes. I don't deserve the soft tone he's using to talk to me. "Bucky, _look at me,"_ I don't know if it feels like an order or a plea, but I do, and he continues. "I can't talk about that. But you don't have to worry about it, OK?" I search for another hint that he's lying, but I can't find it. "I'm OK," he assures me, and I nod after a moment. He seems to be telling the truth. 

"That's all I wanted to know," whisper, and I make an effort to clean my face with my hands before getting up. He stands up too and looks at me for a second. I give him a smile, unsure of how much of it is sincere, and I take a step back when my first instinct is to hug him goodbye. 

It's so hard to try and fuse the dynamic we used to have with everything I've become. 

"It was great to see you again," I say instead and turn towards the door again. 

"Buck..." he leaves out, and I stop in my tracks. "Stay with me," it's nothing but a murmur but I hear it loud and clear. I turn back to look at him. "Don’t leave. _Please,_ " he adds, and I want to cry again. I could make an excuse, tell him that it's not safe, or that they'll be looking for me. But I don't. 

"I don't trust myself enough to do that, Stevie, to get too close," the confession comes out shaky, but It's nothing but the truth.

"I don't give a damn about that. I trust you, man. I _know_ you." That statement breaks my heart a little. I wish I was the same person that he used to know. I wish that so much. 

"I know you think you do, and I really appreciate it. But you really don't," I shake my head. My voice is so bitter I can barely recognize it myself, but he has to know. "The things I've done, the people I've killed. You wouldn't even be talking to me if you knew, Stevie." 

His eyes turn serious, and I prepare myself for his rejection, for him finally realizing I'm too far gone. He walks to the nightstand and I repress the urge to run. If he wants to press that button, if he really thinks he needs to call for help, then he can. And he probably should. So I close my eyes and stand still, with a big knot in my throat… but by the sound of it he doesn't go for the button, or for the shield besides his bed. He just opens the nightstand's drawer. I open my eyes and look at him as he takes out a folder and walks back to me. 

"I think I might know more than you, pal", he says as he hands it to me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The folder has a picture of me attached to the first page, and it takes me a long second to realize that it's my file. HYDRA's file. My stomach drops to my feet as I feel the heat climbing up my throat. 

"You've read it?" I ask without looking at him. My voice is barely above a whisper and my hands are shaking while I turn the pages. I don't read it, but I don't really need to. The pictures are more than enough. One by one, all of them stare back at me with absent eyes. _My victims._

Page after page, my chest tightens more and more. My heart feels like it's frozen. Almost all of them were already in my mind, but seeing them like that, broken and lifeless… it's too much. I suddenly can't breathe. _There's so many of them._ The memories flood me, and I can't help feeling like I'm drowning in them. Broken necks, knives slitting throats, bullets piercing hearts, begging eyes, questioning looks. It's too much. Way too much. 

I close the folder and try to concentrate in the present while the screams and the pleas for mercy still echo in my head. It takes me a minute to quiet them down. "Have you?" I press, my eyes glued to the floor. 

"I did," he answers, and I close my eyes again. The humiliation flows over me. "Look at me," he asks again, but this time I don't listen. How could I look at him in the eye? How could I face him knowing that he knows what I am? 

He moves slowly, his hand hovers over my arm for a second, probably out of habit, but he doesn't touch me. Instead, he pushes the folder down until it's out of my sight. "I need you to look at me, Buck," he says, voice serious again, and I do. I'm prepared to find disgust and shame in his eyes, but I only find warmth. He forces a smile. "I read the whole thing. Top to bottom. And I'm so sorry that you had to go through something like that."

I frown, my brain trying to wrap around the idea of him not hating me, but he ignores my confusion. "But I'm not about to turn my back on you because someone made you do those things," he adds, and I can't speak. The words are clogging my throat. 

"I understand that you're going through a lot. I know you'll need space, and that right now you probably don't believe a word I'm saying. You have every right to be feeling like this. I promise I won't push you or judge you… but I already lost you once, Buck. _Please_ , don't make me lose you again."

I swallow hard and look at him for a whole minute before nodding. He sighs, takes a few steps back and wipes his face nonchalantly, breaking an apologetic smile. I hadn't realized that the brightness had overflowed his eyes and was wetting his cheeks. 

He takes the file from my hands and puts it in the drawer again. 

"Now," he leaves out way louder. "You hungry?" 

\---

He cooks enough meat for the both of us -and then some- and takes some leftover vegetables out of the fridge. Just like in the old times, he's great at pretending he doesn't hear me when I say he doesn't have to. Maybe he sees through my lies just as well as he always has, maybe he can tell I haven't eaten anything all day, and knows I'm starving. 

I help a little, but mostly just try to keep out of the way. He looks at me from time to time as he cooks, but we don't talk much. The silence is OK, not at all like it is when I'm alone. I think that somehow his presence helps quiet down the voices in my head, and I thank him internally. I know I don't deserve it, but some peace of mind sounds like heaven right now. 

The food is amazing, and it brings back so many memories, I couldn't even count them if I'd tried. It's almost as if I could see him cooking for us before the war. He used to help my mother in the kitchen when my father wasn't around. I always had the sneaking suspicion that she gave him the chores that would make him feel strong, things that would make him feel useful, like if he needed to be useful to stay with us after his mother passed. 

I want to say that his cooking reminds me of my mother's, but I don't. I keep quiet, and eat a second plate when he offers. When I'm done, I realize he's looking at me. "Haven't eaten like this in a while," I say, and he smiles. "Is that a compliment, Barnes?" I shake my head and put the cutlery on the table, closer to him than to me. 

"Don't let it go to your head," I say, but his eyes are fixed on the knife between us. He _knows_ I purposely got it away from myself, but he doesn't say anything about it. "Wouldn't dream of it," he answers, and gets up to fix the table. I wonder if I ruined it by reminding him just how dangerous I really am, but he's not giving up on the conversation. 

"Remember when you tried to make a barbecue that one time?" he asks. He's got his back to me, but I can hear the mixture of emotions in his voice, see it in the way he's squaring his shoulders. He's trying to pass it as a joke, but he's genuinely interested in knowing if I'll remember. Luckily, he picked a big moment. When he turns around, I'm squinting my eyes at him playfully. 

"You're _still_ holding that against me? It wasn't my fault!" his expression relaxes and he lets out a laugh as he grabs a couple of beers out of the fridge and offers me one. "You almost burned the whole house down!" I take a sip of my beer. 

"I got _distracted!_ How was I supposed to know the oil was so close to the grill?" 

He laughs harder. "You're the one that left it there!" I laugh with him and shake my head. I can't remember the last time I laughed either. Something tells me that it was with him. " _I did_ _not,_ " I say trying to sound offended and he shakes his head too. It's so nice to hear him laugh. 

"Good thing you knew how to put it out, I would've tried to throw water at it," I add a bit more seriously, and then drink again, avoiding his gaze. I was always a complete mess without him by my side. He shrugs. "I got lucky," he replies, and drops the subject, but I can't stop thinking about it. That was the first time he saved my life. God knows it wouldn't be the last. 

"Mind if I use your bathroom?" I ask, and he nods. "Sure. You can take a shower too... if you want." I look at him sideways. "Just a suggestion," he adds, putting up his hands as if he's surrendering, but he quietly adds "It's not like you stink or anything," he's being sarcastic, and I shake my head and whisper 'jerk' under my breath. It's nice to hear him making jokes. Although I probably _do_ stink. 

I get up and he shows me where it is. He guides me, and I notice that his hand hovers over my body again, without touching me. 

"A shower would be kinda nice actually," I confess as we walk, and he smiles approvingly. "Great. Towels are in the cabinet inside the bathroom, I'll get you some clean clothes, OK?" I nod and get inside the bathroom. It's hard to process everything that's happening. His kindness is a bit overwhelming. Too good to be true. Why would he even be OK with me being here after having read my file? After everything I've done to him? 

Maybe I'm just dreaming, face down in a ditch somewhere. That’d make more sense. I turn the water and strip down mechanically, completely absent-mindedly. I put my knife on the side of the sink and my combat clothes end up on the floor. 

When I get into the shower the warmth hits me by surprise and I recoil from it, my instincts taking over. 

I breathe slowly a few times, and then force myself to go back under the rain, trying to bring back the lost familiarity. I remind myself that this is how a shower is supposed to be. Warm and inviting, not cold and icy, as they used to be in HYDRA's headquarters. Either way, it feels a little unsettling. 

I go through the motions, trying not to think about it, and a soft knock gets my attention.

"Buck?" I make a sound to let him know I can hear him. "I got you the clothes. Can I come in or should I leave them by the door?" I'm behind the shower curtain anyway, so I tell him to come in. I hear the door. “I also got you a new toothbrush, in case you need it.”

“Thanks, man,” I reply, and then he’s out. Privacy hasn’t been a part of my life in such a long time, that I have to take a moment to appreciate it. I smile to myself as I let the water fall on my face. It actually feels kinda nice. All of it. The water, the privacy, the feeling of not being alone. I know it’s too good to be true, but maybe I can enjoy the dream while it lasts. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. 

By the time I turn the tap off my right hand is all wrinkly. I step out and walk to the cabinet to grab a couple of towels. I wrap one up around my hip and use the other one to dry my body and my hair. I'm checking the clothes Steve left for me on top of the toilet when I look up and see the fogged up mirror. I let go of the clothes and approach it slowly, standing in front of it as if it was a doorway to hell. Maybe it is. I can't see much, but I'm able to make out the different colors of the image. My left arm looks so weird, so out of place. 

I decide to stop being a pussy and I wipe the mirror with my right hand. My breathing spikes up immediately. The arm looks completely foranger, not mine at all. I've never seen it like this, or at least I can't remember if I have. I move it temptably and I'm forced to look away. It looks like it's someone else's. Like it's part of _something_ else. 

I try to regain my balance leaning a bit on the sides of the sink. Everything is spinning around me, but I look up again. The scarred flesh surrounding the metal seems to glow brighter than the rest, and I wonder where the metal ends. I wonder if it stops there, all of it visible, or if it goes under my skin, infecting the rest of my body. 

I scratch at the joint, trying to figure it out, digging my nails on it as much as I can, but my nails are too blunt, and they don't get the job done. 

I grab the knife almost without realizing it, and I dig the blade right where the flesh meets the metal. I lean closer to the mirror to get a better look. The layer of skin that's closest to the metal is thin, like I suspected, so I keep cutting to see where the material ends. 

Part of my brain registers that someone's knocking on the door, but I pay no attention to it. I _have_ to know. I drive the knife deeper into the flesh, hitting the metal underneath it. I take it out and dig it somewhere else, a couple inches closer to the center of the chest. I hit metal again so I start running it farther and farther away from where it started and closer to-

" _Jesus Christ, Bucky!"_ I snap out of it and look away from the mirror. Steve's standing beside me, looking at me with wide eyes. He's staring at my body, so I look down at myself. My chest and metal arm are _covered_ in blood. I slowly realize that it's my own. My heart rate spikes up. _What the hell am I doing?_ Why didn't I _feel_ it? 

I can't control my breathing. "It's ok," he says more quietly, showing me his palms and approaching me slowly. "You're ok," his voice is soothing but he looks at my hand again. "Think you can drop the knife there, buddy?" I hear the knife falling out of my hand immediately, even before I can process his words. As soon as it's on the floor he starts moving. He takes a towel from the cabinet and comes back with it to place it on my shoulder.

I clench my jaw at the sudden rush of pain and push him back instinctively. The weight of his hand on my body was too much. Too threatening, too dangerous, too big a risk. 

We stare at each other for a moment, and then he sights. "It's ok," he says again. "I'm sorry, I don't have to touch you if you're not comfortable with it, but we need to put pressure on those wounds. Think you can handle it?" I take a moment to process his words, and then I nod and accept the towel he's offering. It's already a bit bloody, and I press it to my shoulder, ignoring the new wave of pain that courses through my body. I do my best to try and calm down. 

"I'm sorry," I say after a moment, but he shakes his head dismissively. I'm not sure if he knows that I'm not talking about pushing him. "About everything," I add, to make sure that he understands. He nods and offers me a smile.

"It's alright. You're here now. You're with me and everything's gonna be just fine." He guides me to the bedroom and tells me to sit in the bed. I do, and he brings the chair over to sit in front of me. "Now we need to see how bad it is. Can you move the towel please?" I do as he asks and his facade falls off for just a second before he fakes a smile. "I think you might need a stitch or two there," he informs me and the fear takes over again. I put my right hand on his knee.

"I don't want to see a doctor," I say, and I think he's able to hear the panic in my voice, because he smiles gently. 

"You don't have to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, OK?" I nod. "I can stitch you up if you want, but I'm gonna have to touch you. Would that be better?" 

I think about it for a minute, looking at him. He took me by surprise a minute ago, but I know he's not a threat. I _know_ he won't hurt me. He wouldn't even hurt me when I was trying to kill him. But would _I_ hurt _him_ right now? My brain ponders on that fact. I take a breath and check thoroughly on my mental state. I _feel_ the pain in my shoulder, I _understand_ what is happening, I _remember_ who I am. I'm in control. There's no way I would hurt him right now, I'm sure of it. So I nod silently and he smiles again, this time a bit more sincerely. 

He stands up and opens a drawer, looks around it for a bit and then hands me a pair of sweatpants. "The ones I gave you before were on the floor of the bathroom, I think we'll have to wash them," I nod again, mumble a quiet 'thank you' and stand up to put on the pants. He turns on his heels and walks out. 

"I'll get the first aid kit," he leaves for less than a minute and brings back bandages, alcohol and the familiar small red box with a white cross drawn on the top. He takes his seat in front of me again, and I lower my hand slowly. "It's already looking a lot better," he comments as he wets a towel with rubbing alcohol. He makes a gesture with the towel in his hand, asking for permission, and I nod again. I've gotten pretty good at ignoring the pain at HYDRA, but I can't do that right now. It'd be too dangerous to zone out. It would mean giving up on some of the control, and I'm not willing to do that, so I make an effort to be present, to stay calm. 

It stings, but it's OK, I'll handle it just fine. He cleans the blood -which is a lot more than I thought- and prepares the needle. He leaves it aside for a second, and dips a ball of cotton in some brown liquid before gently padding the wounds with it. I don't ask what it is, probably some type of disinfectant. He gets the needle and I nod in approval, so he starts stitching me up. 

He's so careful not to make it hurt more than necessary. Such gentle moves don't seem to belong in that body, with those wide hands and strong arms. I remember seeing him like this before HYDRA. I remember watching him discovering the real possibilities of his new found strength. Truth be told, he had always been strong. Way stronger than me. 

"Can I ask _why_ you did it?" he lets out suddenly, and I'm not sure if he really wants to know or if it's just an effort to distract me. He cuts the thread after the first stitch and looks up at me. "Were you trying to… rip it off?". I shake my head no but don't say anything so he sighs. "You know what? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he sets up to make a second stitch, and I watch him work in silence. He's focused and gentle. Other times when he's done this come to my mind. 

"You've done stuff like this before, haven't you? To me, I mean," he breaks a smile, but he doesn't lose his steadiness.

"All the time. You were a bit of a mess sometimes." I snort a small laugh.

"Look who's talking," I tease and he laughs.

"Yeah, you used to do this for me too every once in a while," I roll my eyes.

"More like 'every other weekend', pal," he laughs again. 

He cuts the thread again and looks at his work with analytic eyes. A third stitch is done in silence. "I think that'll be enough," he declares afterwards, and pads me with the brown stuff again. Once he's done, he grabs one of the bandages. "You want to do it yourself or should I?" I consider looking myself in the mirror again to put them on.

"Would you mind?" I ask, and he smiles one more time and does it with the same gentle moves and careful hands. 

"It'll heal in no time," he says reassuringly, as he clears the first aid stuff off the bed. "Don't you worry about it." He opens a couple more drawers and gives me a t-shirt and a pair of socks. I nod as a thank you and put on the shirt. He smiles a bit more playfully. "Good thing we're about the same size now. Would've looked ridiculous with one of my old t-shirts." 

"I think I could've pulled it off," I fake the humor that doesn't come quite so naturally anymore, and he shakes his head.

"Yeah, keep telling that to yourself, buddy." He finishes putting everything back into the first aid kit, takes one of the two pillows from the bed and heads to the door. "You need to get some rest, man. I'll be right outside if you need me, alright?" I frown.

"Where will you sleep?" 

"Don't worry about that, the sofa turns into a really nice bed, I'll be better off than you," he teases. He's about to leave, but he seems to remember something else, "Hey, if you're cold, there's more blankets in that closet, light switches are over there and right here, but be careful with that button, is a distress call," he points to the button besides the bed, and I nod, so he turns off the light. I look at his hesitant silhouette for a long moment, and then he speaks with the quietest of whispers. "It's really good to have you here, Buck," he says into the darkness and then closes the door before I can reply. 

"It's really nice to be here, Stevie," I say into the darkness too, as if it was a confession. I lie down on my good side and look at the light on the bottom of the door, not being able to keep from smiling. Just knowing he's out there brings me peace. "It's great," I add quietly thinking about how easy it seems to spend time with him, even when I completely fuck up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit longer, so let me know if it feels like it's _too_ long, ok? :)


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up a bit agitated, breathing heavily and with a strange weight over my chest. I don't remember my dream, but I think that maybe that's for the best. Doesn't feel like it was a nice one. I try to listen to have an idea of what's going on in the apartment. I can hear music playing pretty quietly, and Steve singing over the track, like he used to do when we were back in Brooklyn. I can't help smiling. The song fades and a new one begins. 

I hear him singing along quietly, not getting all the notes right. _"The lengths that I will go to, the distance in your eyes… Oh, no, I've said too much…"_ I sit up and stretch my arms over my head mindlessly. My shoulder complains a bit and the stitches come to mind. I check the bandages, but they seem to be OK. Didn't pull _too_ hard. I get out of the bed and open the door silently. I'm not trying to surprise him, but I want to see him like this, I want to keep this with me, for it to be a new memory. _"Every whisper… every waking hour, I'm choosing my confessions."_ I lean on the doorframe and cross my arms as I look at him. He's cooking, going from one end of the kitchen to the other. His singing is barely a whisper, but he seems… _happy_. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world, although I’m sure he's got too many. I can barely handle the way I feel seeing him like this.

"Enjoying the show?" he says without looking at me, and my smile gets wider. I really was.

"Interesting music," I say instead of answering. "Is that what music sounds like these days?" he lets out a laugh. 

"Not exactly from these days, but you could say it's _relatively_ new. Emphasis on the relativity part."

"How old is it?" he shrugs as he serves scrambled eggs on two plates. I get the napkins and glasses.

"A couple decades. Maybe more." I leave out a whistle.

"Guess I've missed a lot," I say quietly as the song fades. 

He picks up on the serious note immediately, and offers me a smile as he sits down in front of me. "Don't sweat it. You'll have plenty of time to catch up." He starts reaching for the arm I have resting on the table, but pulls away when he looks at it. Maybe the metal upsets him, so I get the arm off the side of my plate and put it on my lap, hiding it under the table. I try to smile at him, but I don't think he buys it. 

We talk about some of the other things I've missed as we eat the breakfast he made. He mentions some movies, a couple singers… it's pretty obvious that he's trying to keep it light, and I appreciate the effort. Everything's been so heavy in my head lately, it's nice to have a break. 

"What do you have to do today?" I ask when we're clearing out the table. He shrugs.

"Not much. I'm still supposed to be recuperating." 

I feel my throat closing up immediately. I asked him if he was OK when I first got here, but didn't push him to give me any details. I'm so fucking scared to know what I did to him, but I try to put on a brave front. "That asshole really did a number on you, uh?" I mean to say it as a joke, but my tone has a lot more resentment than I intended to give it. He puts away the bread before answering, shrugging again

"I've had worse," he says simply. 

"Have you really?" I ask, suddenly curious about it. Maybe I'm just putting off hearing about how bad I messed him up, but he’s kind enough to let me do that, and tells me unbelievable stories about aliens and gods. About fighting off goons from another fucking planet, and trying to get away from one of his own brain-washed friends. "And here I was thinking I was special," he leaves out a small laugh. "That happens to you a lot, doesn't it?" he shrugs, apparently amused by the joke.

"It's all cool as long as they come back," he says, and he sounds so... _kind._

He talks about his team, tells me about each one of them. The way Natasha's been there for him when I couldn't -she’s the one I also _almost_ killed-, and how Clint can't miss a shot. He tells me the winged guy’s name, he’s Sam, and he’s a war veteran too, although he didn’t fight in the same war we did. He talks about Dr. Banner and his dangerous alter ego, and about Thor and his magical hammer. I'd bet my right hand that Steve would be able to lift it. There's not a doubt in my mind. I try to figure out if helping me would make him more or less 'worthy'. Probably less. _'Birds of a feather…'_

The idea of bringing him down to my level hunts me for a few hours after that, but knowing Steve, he wouldn't leave me to fend for myself right now, even if I'd brought it up, so I keep quiet. He's too good to even think about leaving a friend behind. 

In the afternoon, I discover that the couch really _does_ turn into a queen size, pretty comfy bed. We watch a full colored movie in what he insists is a modern TV. To me, the thing just looks impossibly flat to be considered as even remotely the same apparatus. He tells me it’s pretty common for people to have one, these days. 

When the movie ends, he turns it off and sighs. After a few seconds of silence, he speaks without looking at me. "You know I'm gonna have to check on those stitches soon, right?" I nod.

"Want to do it now?" I ask. Might as well getting it out of the way. He agrees, so I take my -his- shirt off and rip off the bandages as he gets the same kit from last night. I'm half lying half sitting on the bed that came out of the couch, so I lean back a bit more to give him room for working. 

He inspects the wounds thoroughly, cleans them, and covers them again in no time. "It'll take a bit longer to heal, but not much," he says as I put the shirt back on. He clears the kit and brings back two beers. I thank him and take a sip. We stay quiet for a while, and then I break the silence. 

"I was trying to see how far inside it reached. The metal, I mean," I say in a whisper.

"Oh." He pauses. "That actually makes sense." 

"You don't have to worry about me doing it again" I assure him. "Not worth it" 

"Curiosity almost killed the Bucky," he jokes, and I relax a bit. It's really nice to hear him joke, even if the joke's so stupid. "You know, there's a photo in your file. An x-ray of your torso." I frown. "It's right at the end, that's probably why you didn't see it. You want me to get it for you?" 

I think about it for a second. I'm not really sure if I can handle looking at myself again, but I really want to know. "Could you just tell me?" I ask shyly, and he nods and uses his own body to gesture as he speaks. 

"If the metal is visible to about here, then it goes into your torso, under your skin reaching to about here," he explains, pointing at his chest, tree or four inches away from the invisible line of metal he had established before. "But it's not all the same kind of material. It's attached to something a bit softer, and that thing fusses into your own bone structure," he finishes and I nod slowly. I notice my fingers tracing the things he mentions in my own body. My shoulder, the spot where the metal is supposed to end, the bones where I think it must be attached to. "I think they did it like that so that it wouldn't be ripped off if you were to use it at full strength," he adds more quietly.

"Sounds… logical," I throw out when I don't know what to say, and he shakes his head a little. 

The silence builds up for a couple of minutes again, until I find the guts to ask what's been eating me alive.

"Have _you_ healed completely?" I say in a whisper, and he makes a face. "I remember shooting you," I add, touching my lower back. "How bad was it?" he shrugs.

"Not great, but I'm OK now. The one in the leg and the one in the shoulder were pretty easy to get rid of." 

"Can I see the other one?", I ask quietly, reading between the lines, and he dismisses the question with his hand, grabbing the remote again. He turns the TV back on and starts changing the channels mindlessly, but I don’t take my eyes off of him. "Must be really bad if you don't want me to see it."

He looks at me again with a tired expression. I hold his gaze and he sighs after a moment. "It's almost completely healed. It went right through, so they didn't have to fish it out…" 

"But…?" I press, and he looks away again, clenching his jaw. I hide my head in my hands at the true weight behind his silence.

"Hey…" he whispers. "I'm OK now. I _swear_ I'm OK," I dare to look at him and he offers me a small smile. I feel like I'm about to cry. I really could've killed him. "Here, look," he says, and pulls up his shirt, leaning back on the armrest of the couch. There's a bandage in his stomach, but he rips it off to show me. 

I swallow hard, trying to pass the knot that's forming in my throat. The wound looks red and infected and I feel my chest tightening even more. It looks more like the kind a knife would leave, and I slowly realize that they had to open him up. 

"The bullet did some damage to a few organs, so I had to have a little surgery," he explains. "Nothing major, you don't have to worry about it," I can feel myself getting sick, but he raises his voice. "Buck, calm down. _Breathe._ " I do as he says, and I see his hand hovering my arm. He doesn't touch me, though. "That's good. Now look at it, please." I gather the balls to do so and he smiles approvingly, leaning back again to give me a better look. 

After the initial shock, I can see that it _is_ almost completely healed. The stitches remain there, but they don't seem totally necessary anymore. It’s not infected or even red. The brown-ish stuff around it that I thought was dry blood is in fact that liquid he used on my own wounds. It looks OK. He’s OK. 

Without a conscious order from my brain, my hand goes to him and I brush my fingers on the side of the injury, more delicately than I thought I was capable of. He takes in a sharp breath and I pull away, realizing that I might have made him uncomfortable. It feels like he's fine now. "Thank you," I say, and I'm not sure if I'm thanking him for showing me, or for not dying. Maybe both, but I won't tell him that. That'd definitely be too much. 

\---

Over the next few days, we fall into a nice little routine, something I haven't had in a long time. We eat together, watch movies, cook, talk… we even take care of each other's injuries like we used to back in the day. I know it can't last forever, but I'll be damned if I don't enjoy it to the fullest while it does.

He tells me about the list of things he wants to catch up to, and shows it to me. Apparently, the United States landed on the fucking _moon._ We talk about that for a while and then watch a video of the mission. A couple of guys walking up there as if it's normal. I can hardly believe it. 

I start my own list after that. I'm not talking to anyone else, so I can only write down the stuff he recommends, but it feels amazing to have something to look forward to again. It's been way too long. 

I take it upon myself to try and make sure that he fulfills his list. We watch the movies, hear the songs, order the exotic food, look up the topics. He shows me what the internet is, and I start to look up things by myself. I suck at it, and apparently I'm impossibly slow, but the google is pretty easy to use. I kinda like it. 

I look for the presidents that have been elected since the fifties, the wars and conflicts of the world, the most popular inventions of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries -there's _a lot-_. Everything I search for is somewhat serious, it's the things that I don't want to talk about with Steve, in case I accidentally bring up something bad and ruin the good mood. I was right, the bad kind of stuff comes up way too often. One topic leads to another, and almost every time is something I'd rather not mention. 

About a week after my arrival, he tells me that he'll have to go out during the afternoon. He needs to do some training if he's gonna get back in the saddle with the whole defending the world thing. 

"It'll just be for a couple of hours, OK?" he says, and his voice sounds weird. I assure him that it won't be a problem, I'll just look up some more stuff and read the google for a while. That's interesting enough. “I don’t..." he starts, but his voice fades, so I look at him, waiting. “Will you be here when I get back?” The question takes me by surprise. 

“You want me to leave?” I ask right back, because he didn’t make me feel like he wanted me to leave. “No”, he answers, and then sighs. “It’ll just be a couple of hours, OK? We’ll have dinner when I get back”. I nod and shrug. I’m not sure what the hell he’s talking about, but I can tell he was being sincere when he said he didn’t want me to leave, so I won’t. 

I grab the lap computer and sit in the bedroom as he takes a shower before leaving. I've tried to get him to sleep in his own room, but he won't budge. He says this way he can get out of bed in the morning and roam around the apartment without worrying about waking me up. Eventually, I just give up and follow along. 

I'm searching for information on the Berlin wall when a small moving image on the side of the screen gets my attention. It says _'Hot single German girls are waiting for you in this chat room'._ I'm not sure what that is, but I swallow hard and get a bit closer to get a better look of the picture. The woman in it is not wearing _anything_ , and she's moving up and down pretty suggestively. 

My heart starts pounding immediately and I try to get a grip. It's been so long since I have thought about that aspect of life. I almost forgot how it felt like to… _want_ , how it felt like to be aroused. I get a bit hard before I can even register what's happening, but I fucking jump in my seat when I hear the bathroom door opening. I'm forced to think fast. I adjust myself as best as I can so Steve won't notice my condition, and then close the computer. I have no idea if that'll take the woman out of the screen, but I sure as hell hope so. 

The door's open, and I kinda wait for Steve to pop his head in to say goodbye before leaving, but he's not leaving yet. Instead, he walks in with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Hey, man. Forgot my clothes," he explains without even looking at me and going right for the drawers. 

I try to look away, but my eyes are fixed on him. I can see the way the muscles in his back move as he looks for a pair of pants and my dick twitches almost painfully in my pants. _What the hell is going on?_ I pretend to look at the ceiling when he turns around and walks to the other drawer. 

I sneak another look as he searches for a t-shirt. This time I look at the way the towel curves around his ass, and at his legs. _What's wrong with me?_

"Got it," he says, unaware of the fact that I've been staring at him like a fucking perv, and walks out. I'm left breathing heavily, but I shake it off. Must've been the moving picture I saw in the computer. That'd turn anybody on, and it caught me by surprise, I wasn't prepared. Getting worked up because of something like that is a perfectly normal thing to happen to someone who hasn't been intimate with anybody in over seventy years. Completely understandable. 

When Steve leaves I take a long cold shower. Not because I need it, _of course_ , but because I don't have anything useful to do, and I had to take a shower anyway. 

I make dinner to wait for him. There's not much I know how to cook, but I manage to turn some vegetables into a decent soup. We watch a movie afterwards, one that he's seen already, so we don't pay much attention to it. He talks to me about his afternoon, and asks me about mine. There's not really much to tell, but I talk about making the soup. I'm pretty sure that he pretends to be interested. 

The second day Steve leaves I try and read a book. Emphasis on the 'try'. When he comes back I can barely remember enough to tell him something about it. He brings back a _cell phone_ for me and teaches me how to answer a call. I had communication devices when I was fulfilling missions, but nothing like this, just a little mic inside the mask and a thing inside my ear, for the voice to tell me what to do. 

We decide to watch another movie after dinner, even though it's pretty late, and I can only assume that I fell asleep at some point, because when I wake up it’s already daytime. I blink against the light and frown. I'm lying on my stomach, right arm and leg stretched to the side. I notice that my arm is moving slowly up and down and open my eyes to see it's resting on top of Steve's chest. "Morning," he says when he sees that I'm awake.

"I'm sorry," I reply, taking my hand away slowly. He shrugs.

"It's ok. I don't mind you touching me, Buck." 

His voice is as kind as always, but I know it's not OK for me to steal this bed too. Once I'm entirely off of him, he looks at me for a while and then gets up. "Want some breakfast?" he asks a bit too loud after clearing his throat.

"Sure," I reply, both because I'm starving and because I can feel my face going hot, and I don't want him to see me blushing like a fucking schoolgirl. 

That's the third day Steve leaves, and I can't take it anymore. I have to do something about these thoughts, or I'll end up going insane. Well, _more_ insane. 

I get in the shower and go right to the point. I just need a quick relief, and then these weird ideas will get off my head. I'll be back to being able to concentrate, to think properly. It's weird how I went so long without this, and now that that side of me is awake I just can't ignore it anymore. It's like I'm unbalanced somehow. 

I close my eyes and try to think about one of the dames I had sex with back in the day. I know there's a few, but I can't remember well enough to get it to work. I remember the moving picture from a few days ago, and it's better. 

Her moving up and down was great, her breasts following the movement. I can tell I'm close, so I try to focus on that. But then I remember what interrupted me from looking at her and it all turns wild. I fall onto my knees the second he erupts into my mind and I have to hold on to the bath with my free hand just to get everything to stop spinning. 

Now I can't get him out of my mind. His broad back with the tight muscles working under the skin, the shape of his ass only covered by the towel, his wet hair all messed up. I think about him taking that shower and I let out a moan when the pleasure hits me by surprise. The orgasm is sharp, overwhelming and ends fairly quickly. 

I'm left panting and a little disoriented afterwards. Maybe my body's not used to feeling pleasure anymore… or maybe is the fact that I got it thinking about a man. Thinking about _Stevie._ God, I'm just sick. That's sodomy. Have I always looked at him in this way? No, for God’s sake, it was just an accident. I was thinking about the moving picture, I was already too worked up when I accidentally thought about him. It doesn’t mean anything. 

I do my best to ignore the whole thing. It's probably just that he's the only person I talk to, the only one who has been even remotely nice to me in decades. 

When I get to the bedroom I lie down face up on the bed and sigh. I feel like a fucking perv. _I am_ a fucking perv. Steve's been nothing but nice to me, and here I am, thinking about him while I touch myself. My dick reacts to the association of Steve and masturbation. I leave out an out loud cry and cover my eyes. I _really_ didn't need something _else_ to feel guilty about.


	6. Chapter 6

When Steve gets home, looking him in the eye it's harder than before. I realize I've gotten paranoid and can't stop reading second meanings into every little thing he says. He asks me what I did during the day and I immediately think _'he knows'._ He talks about the Berlin wall and I nearly spit out the water I'm drinking, thinking _'maybe he saw the moving picture'_. He tells me he needs to get a shower after dinner, and I'm suddenly a fucking mess. My mind is all over the place. 

We eat mostly in silence, and I can’t unglue my eyes from my own plate. When he reaches for my arm over the table, I jump in my seat like a fucking idiot and pull away as if he burned me. He looks hurt about it, like I just insulted him or something, and that only makes it worse. I can’t come up with a good excuse, so I just tell him that I’m sorry. “Don’t know why, man. I’ve been kinda jumpy all day,” is the best thing I can think about. I can tell he’s not buying it, but what else can I say? _'Sorry, Stevie, apparently I'm a sodomistic homosexual and can't force myself to stop thinking about you'_ doesn't really seem like something I should ever say out loud. 

I get away as quickly and politely as I can and pretty much lock myself in the room after dinner. He gets in the shower, and I’m trying _really hard_ to stop picturing him under the water, but the image keeps coming back to me, over and over again. 

It doesn’t take much time for me to realize that this isn’t going anywhere. ‘This is just about him being the only person I speak to’ _my ass!_ I'm way past that excuse by now. _I'm_ _into him._ Oh, god, I'm really into him.

I hear him turning off the water and then coming out of the bathroom and I hold my breath, as if he could notice what I'm thinking by the way I breathe. He knocks softly on the door and I hide my head in my hands and try to sound natural “Yeah?", he takes a second to reply.

"Hey, man. Want to watch a movie?" he says softly and I close my eyes.

"Not tonight, buddy, I think I'll pass". 

I see his shadow moving on the light at the bottom of the door, and I know he's hesitating. "Can I come in for a second?" he asks even more quietly. I take a moment, breathe deeply a few times, and then throw a 'sure'. After all, it's _his_ fucking room. He opens the door slowly, and just takes a few small steps in. 

"Are you alright, Buck? You didn't seem like yourself at dinner," he whispers into the unlit room. His silhouette is dark, cut out of shadows covering the light, just the opposite as it should be: he's all light in a world full of darkness, not the other way around. I swallow hard and realize that I've spent too long without answering.

"I'm OK, man. Don't worry about it." I force a smile, even if he can't see it. 

He nods and stands in silence for a moment. I think he’s about to leave, but then he speaks again. "Can I ask you for something?" his voice has turned fragile.

"Of course, man. Anything." I suspect that he has no idea about the truth behind that word, how much I'd give up for him, how far I'd go. It takes a minute for him to speak again, but I don't pressure him. I kinda need the time too.

"If you’re thinking about… If you ever decide to leave… please don't do it without me knowing, OK? Just let me say goodbye to you this time… please?"

My mind stops dead in its tracks. His words took me by surprise and I can't think of anything to say. "OK." I whisper and he nods, turns and leaves, before I can say anything else. _'I'm not leaving you'_ my brain provides way too late. _'I'd never leave you'_ my heart adds, and I cover my eyes again. I'm not just _into_ Steve, I'm _in love_ with him. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

I stare at the ceiling for hours, hearing the way he turns in his bed, completely restless, and I think about it. I'm a sick fuck, that's for sure. Not just for loving a man the way I should love a woman, but because he doesn't even know about my feelings and they’re already hurting him. He thinks that I want to leave, he thinks _I won't even say goodbye._

 _'I need to stop this'_ I think, and immediately realize the impossibility of that plan _. 'I need to hide it better'_ I propose instead, and that seems _a lot_ more reasonable. 

\---

When the morning arrives, I open my eyes and feel like I haven’t slept all night. I can’t remember my nightmares, but based on the aching hole I feel in my chest, I’m pretty sure they had something to do with Steve. Those are always the worst ones. 

I try to figure out if he’s awake, but I can’t hear him anywhere in the apartment. I look at the nightstand’s clock. The glowing red lights say it’s 8:13 am. I think maybe he overslept, but that’s really not like him. Lately he’s been going for runs in the morning, just a few hours at a time, enough for me to shower and make something for us to eat, but he always lets me know before leaving. Maybe he decided I was too much of a mess last night, and he’s already gone. 

I get up and walk around the apartment. I can't find Steve, but there’s a note on the table that reads: _'I have to go talk to a friend today, won’t be home until lunch. See you then'_ .

Man, I really screwed things up. I wish I could just make this disappear, get back to normal, to being comfortable around him and not confused, to being able to touch him without getting weird ideas. 

Maybe the internet will be able to help me. Steve said that everyone put their opinions and knowledge in there, so maybe there's someone who can help me. There _has_ to be more people with this problem, right? 

I take the lap computer and sit on the couch - which is closed today- I type _‘men with men’_ in the little white box, and my eyes go wide. There's pictures, articles, opinions. I click on an article titled _‘Men who have sex with men’_ expecting it to give me some insights on how to stop it… but it doesn't. As I read, I slowly realize that it's not talking about it like it's a bad thing. Not at all. It just has a scientific approach. 

_‘They may identify as gay, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, or heterosexual’._ I have no idea what half those things are, but I'll look it up later. Then the article mentions numbers. "3 to 16% of all men?" I say out loud. At first it doesn't seem like much, but then I do the math. If there's roughly a couple billion people in the world, and about half of them are male, then 10% of one billion would be… _"100 million people?"_ I almost scream. The possibility that it might actually be something normal is starting to get into my chest, and it kinda tickles. 

I keep reading and my heart goes right to my throat when I get to the next title. _‘Sexual practices’._ I swallow with a dry mouth and start reading everything there is to read. Each word brings new ideas to my mind. I can feel myself getting hard just imagining the stuff I'm reading about. It all sounds really technical and almost has a medical approach, but that doesn't keep me from picturing myself doing those things with Steve. 

I open a new search and write 'homosexual sex'. There's videos, pictures, articles, even books. Fucking _books_ written to explain how to _enjoy_ it. Books with authors who sign their names. Not a crime, not shameful, it's just… _normal_ now. 

I know I shouldn't be feeling this way for _Steve_ of all men, but it kinda helps to know it's not considered as a bad thing anymore. I wonder if you could see two guys holding hands on the streets or going on dates in public places and stuff like that. That'd be nice. 

By the time Steve gets back, I’m already done with my searches. I had to take a not-so-innocent shower again, but other than that, the morning’s been pretty calmed. I made some food to wait for him, and we ate when he arrived. 

He doesn’t say much during the whole meal, and I wonder if he’s still upset because of the way I acted last night. I try to act extra normal now, just to compensate, but he’s not giving me much to work with. When we finish clearing the table, I ask him if he wants to watch a movie, and he shakes his head. 

“No, man, sit down for a bit, I need to talk to you.” I can immediately feel the heat going up my chest, and the cold creeping down my limbs. ‘ _He knows’_ I think, and I have to physically restrain myself from apologizing before he starts speaking. I do my best to try and stay calm and repeat to myself that I’ve done nothing wrong. Just some stupid meaningless fantasies, nothing harmful.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you. _Someone_ I didn’t mention before," he starts. I think he's talking about a girlfriend, and brace myself to pretend like it's no big deal, to tell him there's no reason for him to share something like that with me, but he breathes deeply and then continues. "Buck, one of the Avengers is Tony Stark.”

I frown, and look at him in disbelief. It doesn't take long for me to tie the loose ends. Howard Stark's son. I almost feel like it would've been better if he just said that he had a secret girlfriend. 

“I went to talk to him today,” he adds, almost as a confession, and I swallow hard, hiding my head in my hands.

“What did you tell him?” I ask quietly through clenched teeth. I dare to look at him when he doesn't answer, and his eyes tell me what I need to know. What I would've preferred not knowing. He told him I'm the one who killed his parents. The one who murdered them without hesitation. 

My eyes fill with tears. I dream about them sometimes, Howard talking to Steve when we were taking down Hydra's bases, and then me dragging him out of the car, his wife screaming and begging for me to stop. I shake my head. "I need to leave" I say quickly and stand up to get on with it, but Steve blocks my path. 

"Buck, wait," I try to go around him, but he stops me again. I resist the impulse of pushing him out of the way but I know I can't be here anymore "Listen to me, I didn't do it so that you would have to leave." 

"Were you expecting for him to tolerate me being here? For him to be _friends_ with me? I _murdered_ his mom and dad, Steve. There's no coming back from that!"

"No, you didn't", he replies, and I scoff.

"You're delusional, man. Want me to get the photos from the file for you?" he shakes his head and tries to speak, but I just raise my voice to cover his. "Because I can get them. No problem. They're pretty fucking clear. There's a nice shot of his mom's _corpse_ with the bruises I left on her neck, and one of his dad's with his face-"

"Bucky, stop," he snaps, almost yelling. I shut up and look at him like I don't know who he is.

"How could you even let me be here?" 

"Sit _the fuck_ down and let me explain," he says in a low authoritative tone. I look at him for a moment, and then do what he asks. I decide I can always leave later. "I didn't tell him so you'd have to leave, I did it because I wanted you to stay." I look at him frowning. "Look, man, as much as I like having you here all to myself, I know it’s not right. You’ll have to start going places sooner or later, doing things, meeting people. And I knew it would only be a matter of time before you two would find out about each other.”

“And I care about you. Both of you, so I had to come clean to you guys. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I needed him to understand what’s really going on,” he pauses and I shake my head.

"It's only a matter of time before he calls the cops on me. You know how many crimes I've committed while working for Hydra? The murders on my file aren't even the tip of the iceberg, man," he's shaking his head, "And they'll get you too. Aiding and abetting a fugitive. I _have_ to leave, Steve."

"No, you don't. He's upset, but I trust him. He won't say anything." 

"What the hell am I even doing here?" I say while I run my hands through my hair. It's clearly a rhetorical question, but he answers anyway.

"You're with me," he says simply, and everything goes quiet for a moment. He looks at me with kind eyes. “Bucky, the things that happened to you, what you did… you weren’t in control. You couldn’t help it.” I shake my head again. 

“You could’ve told me you knew him,” I whisper. “Could’ve told me you were gonna talk to him.” 

“He’s my friend, man. I couldn’t keep lying to him.” I breathe deeply, I should've known Stevie wouldn't be able to handle lying. He doesn't give me time to reply. "And you're my friend too. I couldn't keep hiding you as if you'd done something wrong. You haven't. You’re as much of a victim as the people they forced you to kill, Buck." 

His words catch me by surprise, and I can't think of anything to say for a long minute. I can feel my eyes watering, and the knot that has lodged in my throat. 

"You really believe that?" I finally whisper. He puts his hand on my knee and lowers his gaze to look at me in the eye as he speaks.

" _Of course_ I do," he says, and I have to look away. The pure honesty in his voice, the blind trust in his eyes… they're overwhelming. A bit more than I can handle. Much more than I deserve. 

"I still did it," I say quietly. "He won't be able to ignore that. You can't ask him for something like that." I finally look at him again. 

"I didn't," he answers decisively. "I told him the truth. Let him know that it wasn't your fault and offered my discharge from the team. They're thinking about it, considering it." My eyes go wide.

"What? You can't do that!"

"It's already done." I cover my face with both hands.

"I'm not worth all of this, Steve," I say, my fingers muffling my words.

"Buck, I already lost you once. I'm not about to do it again. If they can't handle you being here, then it's their problem, not mine." I’m about to cry, but I try to control myself.

“You can’t give up on everyone you love because of me,” I whisper, knowing that this battle is lost. Steve won’t let me give up right now. And I never really wanted to leave, so it’s really a sweet defeat. He smiles. He fucking _smiles_ at me and looks at me in a way I want to keep with me forever. Has anyone ever looked at me like that before?

He lets a long moment pass in silence, and then he says “Till the end of the line, pal,” and I can’t help smiling back. 

\---

We don't hear anything back from them for the next few weeks. They sure are taking their sweet time to decide whether they still want Steve with them or not. But they don't send the police or the special forces either, so that's good news. 

Steve keeps running during the mornings and training in the afternoons. After thinking about it for some time, I decide that I'm probably not gonna lose control if I do a bit of training myself, so I start to do it while he's out. I quickly discover that their control over me lies in my mind, and probably not my body. Using force, punching stuff, practicing my reflexes, none of it acts as a trigger, not even remotely. That's huge news, because I really needed something to blow off some steam. Steve's getting more and more used to having me around and that means he's getting closer, talking about more personal stuff, and I can barely keep myself from crossing lines that I know I shouldn't. 

He falls asleep one night while we're watching a movie, and I look at him for a moment before deciding I'm a fucking creep and getting up. "Buck?" he says as soon as I start moving, his voice is pasty and half asleep. I look at him again. 

"Stay with me," he asks, and I don't know if he's talking about tonight or if he's dreaming and worrying about me leaving. Either way my heart melts.

"To sleep?" I ask, my voice strangled, and he nods.

"For a little while. Just you and me," he says, and I swallow hard. He's making it really hard for me to lie to myself saying that I'm not in love with him. Really fucking hard. 

I lie down next to him again, on my stomach and facing him, and I could swear there's a small shadow of a smile on his lips. I think maybe he's just messing with me, but that'd be so unlike him. He's never been the kind of person to laugh at someone's feelings or make a joke out of them. So I take a deep breath and try to relax. I concentrate on his even, deep breathing, and I'm out in no time.

I dream about him again, but this time is not a nightmare, but a memory. We're in a theater, watching a movie in black and white. It's his birthday, so I bought the tickets. He says he needs to go to the bathroom and comes back with popcorn. It's enough for the both of us, and I smile and shake my head. _'You couldn't let me invite you, could you?'_ I say, and he smiles. He has such a nice smile. 

When I wake up it takes a moment for the feeling of the dream to dissipate, but then I slowly remember that I'm with Steve and the feeling comes right back. I hadn't slept so well in a long time. There's so many nightmares every night, and he managed to get them all away just by _being_ there. 

I slowly open my eyes and look at him. He's got his hand resting over mine, and my heart goes wild as soon as I notice. I _will_ myself not to read too much into it, but I can't help my body's reaction. Luckily, I'm still on my stomach and safely under the covers, so even if he woke up, he wouldn't be able to tell. 

I breathe deeply and I try to think clearly. I just left my hand in the middle of the bed, and he was going for a similar position but opposite of me. He moved in his sleep, nothing more. It doesn't mean a thing. 

I slowly pull my hand out from underneath his, because I feel like I might just burst into flames if I don't, and then sit on the edge of the bed slowly, trying my best not to wake him. 

As much as I'd like to stay, I know I can't be here with him, being like this. It feels like betraying his trust. He thinks he's sleeping innocently with a friend, and all I can think about is that hand of his running all over the rest of my body, and I just can't do this to him. Or to myself. Being so close to him and not being able to do anything about it is too much. So much that it should be classified as a form of torture. 

It's still early, so I quietly go to the bedroom and lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I don't do anything about my… state, because it kinda feels like using him, or maybe abusing him. So I just try to calm down and I think about everything long and hard as I listen to him getting up and dressed. He goes out the door and I feel like I can finally breathe again.

One thing is for sure: I can't keep doing this to him, I need to tell him the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to clarify something. I know we're closer to 8 billion people in the world right now, but Bucky’s going with what he knows, and back in the forties there were only a few billions :)


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as he leaves, I start working out too. Maybe that'll calm me down a bit. The idea of telling him everything is really messing with my head and my nerves. I can just see his eyes looking at me like I'm a freak.

I stop moving mid pushup for a small second and shake my head before continuing. Stevie wouldn't judge me, he'd take _pity_ on me. He'd look at me with big sad eyes because he can't do anything to help me… and I feel like that might be even worse. _So_ much worse. 

I take a quick shower after that, mostly because I need to get my nerves under control and the sound of the running water helps me a bit. When I get out I head to the bedroom to get dressed while I mindlessly dry my hair with a towel, but stop in my tracks when I see him standing in the kitchen, next to the fridge. "Hey, man. Didn't hear you come in," I manage to leave out, and then I sneak a quick peek at him. He's behind the island, so I can only see his top half, but that's enough to get me going. He's been sweating, and his muscles look tense in a way. I look away when I remember that I'm wearing a fucking towell, and that it would be pretty obvious if I'd get hard. 

When I look at his face again, I realize that he's staring at me, so I take the towel I was using to dry my hair and throw it over my shoulders to cover the worst of my scars. Maybe I'm freaking him out. 

He clears his throat and leans over the island while he opens the water bottle he's holding. "I got out a bit earlier," he says as if he should justify himself in any way. His voice sounds kinda strangled, but maybe he's just tired and I'm reading too much into it. 

"Great. I'll go get dressed, so I can get some breakfast going, uh?" I'm trying really hard to sound normal, but I know he may not fall for it.

"Sure. I'll take a shower, be out in a minute." 

He really does take about a minute or two, because I'm barely starting to break the eggs when he comes back. I'm expecting him to have a towel when he gets out, but he's wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I don't know if I'm nervous because he's already back or kinda sad because I didn't get to see him in a towel. After the conversation I'm about to start, I don't think he'll be comfortable walking around in a towel anymore. I'm not even sure he'll want me here _at all._

When he starts mixing the ingredients for some pancakes, I gather the balls to start. He's with his back to me and I don't know if I can get my voice to come out even, so I put my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. He jumps a little and I take my hand off of him as quickly as I can, apologizing and taking a step back. He looks at me for a few seconds and then puts down the utensils and sighs. 

"I'm sorry, man. I can't do this anymore, we need to talk," he says, and my chest tightens. The words _'He knows'_ are echoing inside my head relentlessly and frantically, making it difficult to think about anything else. He's going to tell me that he's uncomfortable with me being here, given my… _impulses_ , and I try to brace myself to take the blow it'll be. 

"Remember when I said I didn't mind you touching me?" I nod, swallowing hard. "Well, I do. I very much do." Of course he does, that only applied when he thought I was like him.

"I'm sorry," I say, because I fucking am. I'm so sorry I feel this way, I wish I could just turn it off. He takes another deep breath and starts talking again after a moment.

"No, man, it's not that I don't like it or that I don't care. The problem is that I _do_ like it." My head snaps back up when he says that. _What?_

"I like it more than I know I should, Buck. _Way more._ And I thought you should know because it felt like lying to you if you didn't. It felt like I was tricking you or something. I know it's way out of line, and I've tried to stop it or ignore it, but I just can't, and I'm so sorry."

My mind goes blank, like it's numb or something, but I force myself to think about it. I'm trying really hard, to figure out if he's saying what I think he's saying. I think he might be. _Oh, my fucking God, I really think he might be saying it._

Maybe I'm still asleep, and this is a fucking dream. Maybe I misheard, but when I allow myself to look at him in the eyes, I see anxiety in them, sincerity, and he's fucking saying what I think he's saying. My chest feels like it's about to explode. 

I nod slowly, taking him in. Allowing myself to really look at him. The light is hitting him in a way that pops the blue in his eyes, his skin looks slightly blushed, his lashes go on for miles. He's so… _beautiful_ . I swallow hard and bite my lip. It's hard to think properly when he's looking like that. This can't be true. It has to be some sort of prank from the universe. "You're… you're _into_ me?" I manage to say, trying to make sure I heard correctly. Surely I didn't. But he makes a guilty face and then nods, looking away. I think I might explode. 

"I'm not gonna stop," I say quietly, and he looks at me again. After a moment I can see a smile playing on the corner of his lips. He looks away for a second again, trying to hold back the smile, and then back at me. 

"Well, you've been warned," he says and there's a new kind of mischief in his voice. Something I haven't heard before. I fall in love with it too, and then shrug. 

"Yeah, I guess I have," I realize that I sound ballsy. I can't force myself to believe that this whole thing is real, but I kinda don't give a fuck anymore, I just want to live it. To give in to it. 

He looks at me with hooded eyes and a half smile, silently daring me to act on it, so I do. I raise my hand slowly and let it rest in his chest, just above his heart. He tries to keep it cool, but I can tell he's nervous. He swallows hard when I slide my hand up his pec and I can feel his heart rate spiking. I go up his shoulder and then down his arm. His breath gets caught in his throat and I realize that I want to explore every inch of him. No exception. 

"Was it always this way with us?" I dare to ask, and he frowns and shakes his head after a second. I take my hand up the side of his neck and his skin reacts to the touch as if he was cold. I nod again, acknowledging his response and taking in the involuntary reaction. I'm glad that it wasn't like this before, it would've killed me to learn that I lost those memories. 

"Have you been wanting it? For things to be like this between us?" I press, as my hand travels back down his body and settles on his waist. He swallows again and bites his lip, and I can barely keep myself from kissing it.

"Yeah, maybe I have," he says, faking confidence. I have always been able to see right through him, and this is no exception. He's scared shitless, but he wants this as much as I do. _God, I can hardly believe it._ I take a step towards him, and now we're close enough that I can smell him. He smells so good. It brings back memories of nice dinners with him and my family, and weird double dates. I duck my head on his neck and breathe him in. 

"For how long?" I ask, and I can see his hand hesitating to move. It doesn't. It's pretty obvious that he's holding back.

"A while," he replies, and his voice shivers as I press my lips to his neck. It's just a point of contact, wouldn't even qualify as a kiss. 

He feels like butter under my touch, melting wherever I make contact. It's nice to feel like I'm in control, to feel like I could stop if I wanted to. I wouldn't, though. Not for all the money in the world. 

I pull back and look at him in the eyes. I can see the longing in them. His pupils are taking over the color almost completely, and we're so fucking close, I can't control my breathing anymore. My heart rate is up the roof, I can feel it pounding behind my ears. 

I slowly lean in again and press my lips to his, just to see what it feels like. They're warm and kinda dry, and I smile into them. I've been wanting to do this for a while too. But it's just a peck. Just a taste of him. He licks his lips when I pull away, and I dive back in, to the side of his neck. 

"Then why are you holding back?" I whisper near his ear and then purposely brush his earlobe with my lips. He closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. His breath comes out kinda shakie and it makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of him somehow. Like I'm a fucking predator and he's my pray. 

"I don't want to do something you won't be comfortable with," he says, and then takes a second, probably to rearrange his thoughts. "I mean, I am _more than OK_ with this, but I've noticed that you seem to have a problem with me… touching you." 

I nod again, frowning. It did take some time for me to get used to human contact again, but I am way past that point now. At least with him. Lately I've been avoiding it because whenever he'd touched me, it was hard not to beg him for more. 

"Have you thought about what might be the problem with you touching me?" I ask teasingly, but he shakes his head. He really, seriously, _literally_ has no idea, and I smile because he's so cute and naive sometimes. 

Slowly, my left hand finds his right one and I gently move it to set it on the side of my hip. It feels like it comes to life as soon as it's on me. His fingers are digging into my skin and pulling at me to get closer. 

"Are you sure that you're OK with it?" he asks quietly, gesturing to his hand with his eyes, and I do the same with his other hand, setting it on my waist now. Just the same, it feels like he was trying so hard to keep it still right up until the moment I touched it.

"I think it's OK. Do you?" he doesn't speak, but he nods almost imperceptibly. 

This time, he's the one that leans in to me, and the kiss is different, this one's fucking real. There's so much more eagerness to it. I feel his hands everywhere now. He's pulling at my clothes to get me closer to him, and cupping my face, and going up my back. He's a fucking octopus, and I think I might be addicted to it. He takes a step forward and pins me against the island, pressing himself to me. His fingers go through my hair as I feel his tongue in my mouth. His other hand is sliding down my back to rest over my ass and I moan in his mouth when he digs his fingers in the flesh. 

Everything stops so abruptly that my head keeps spinning for a second. His hands are no longer in my body, although he's still pretty close. His breathing is out of control, the same as mine. I'm starting to think that maybe I hurt him, but he speaks before I can. "I'm sorry," he manages to say. "Was that too much?" I raise my eyebrows. 

"Not fucking enough," I say, and pull on him to undo the distance he put between us. He returns the kiss immediately, but his hands hesitate a little before going back to my body, holding me tight against him. My fingers go up his back and through his hair. I pull at it a bit, as gently as I can, to make him put his head back. My mouth is on his neck as soon as he does, kissing, licking and biting everything in my way. 

I go up a bit, to whisper in his ear again. "I've been wanting this too, you know? To touch you." I take a second to catch his earlobe between my lips and let my hands roam through his body. I can feel his heart pounding in his chest, right where it rests against mine. "For you to touch me," I smile and kiss his neck again when his hands get under my t-shirt to touch my back. "...a couple other stuff," I add teasingly, and I feel his chest rumble with what I can only describe as a raw animalistic growl.

I pull on his shirt and he leans away for a second so I can take it off, before getting back to kissing me. God, this feels _right._ My head's spinning, my heart's racing, my blood's boiling and I can hardly think. For a second I'm afraid of what might happen if I let go completely, but even if I do, I know I won't hurt him. It's true that I'm not completely in control, but neither is HYDRA. Something entirely different has taken over. Something made out of wanting and desire, out of lust and longing. Something entirely his. 

He takes off my shirt exactly when I feel like I'm about to burst into flames, and I realize that I've been craving feeling him like this. I grab his ass and push him towards me when I notice there's a pretty important part of our bodies that's not in contact, and he immediately takes the hint. He rolls his hips forward, rubbing himself against me, and I can hardly breathe. 

This feels _nothing_ like the times I've touched myself these past few weeks. It's fucking out of this world. He growls again, and I don't have the strength to keep myself from moaning. Although this time he doesn't stop, he just takes a second and then does it again, a bit harder, a bit more accurately. 

My legs are fucking jelly right now and I'm afraid I might just cum in my pants if he keeps all of this up. If I keep feeling his dick rubbing against mine through our clothes, and his hot jacked up breath on the side of my neck, and hearing the little moans that escape him from time to time. He's driving me absolutely insane.

"I think maybe we should stop," he whispers on my neck, and then kisses right below my ear.

" _Do_ you?" I ask breathlessly. It doesn't feel like he means it.

"Yeah, you know, maybe take it slow," he adds, and his mouth travels down my chest a bit. He hasn't stopped or slowed down at all. I _really_ don't want him to. 

"You think we should?" I reply, and he finally pulls his face away to look at me. He stops moving, but he's still _glued_ to me. He rests his forehead against mine and breathes heavily for a few seconds.

"I just… I don't want to pressure you into something," he says, and I snort a laugh. 

"Do I _look_ like I'm being fucking pressured into something?" I ask, a bit amused, gesturing to myself. I'm half leaning-half sitting on the island wearing just my pants, and I _know_ he's pretty aware of the raging boner I've had since the beginning of all of this. 

He looks at me for a second, closes his eyes for another, and then clears his throat. He looks like he's in pain, so I think maybe he _wants_ to stop, maybe he's not doing OK. I take his face in my hands and gently guide it up so he'll look at me. 

"Hey… you OK?" I ask, and he nods. "You _want_ us to stop?" he shakes his head no. I get closer and kiss him again, a quick peck. "Then quit being a little pussy, man," he lets out a laugh as he pushes me gently by the shoulder and then pulls me back in again. I laugh too, and he shakes his head.

"You're a jerk," he leaves out, close to my mouth and then kisses me. I can tell he’s a bit more relaxed now, letting go a little more, and I love every bit of the confidence he’s gotten. 

My hands go right to the buttons of his jeans, and he shivers as I undo them. I can hardly keep myself from tearing them apart, I know it'd be so easy… but _thank God,_ soon enough I'm able to slip my hand down the waist of his pants to touch him through his underwear. 

He stands still against me, not even breathing for a second, hiding his head on the side of my neck. He’s rock hard and amazingly hot, literally. I’m pretty sure his temperature is up the roof. I swallow as if my mouth was full of sand. “Well, you _did_ say you liked me touching you”, I joke as I slowly go from the base of his dick, following the length till the tip.

“Did I now?” he asks breathlessly, following along on the playful tone. His hand has gone up my back and is now holding on to my shoulder from behind as he presses his lips to my neck. “I think I might have fallen short,” he adds, and his hips buck into my hand. My dick twitches painfully at the involuntary reaction, and I’m pretty sure he fucking feels it, because he’s pulling down my pants in no time. 

By the way he pulls down my underwear too, I can see that he's definitely not fooling around. I sigh when I feel free of my clothes, but that restraint is immediately replaced by a different, much more pleasurable one. 

He's now holding me fucking tight, and I can feel his dick against mine, both trapped between our stomachs. The enclosure feels really hot and I can barely think. He moves a few inches down, rubbing against me, and the friction is enough to make me moan as loud as a fucking record player. 

I grab onto his shoulder and his back for some kind of stability, but my head's spinning out of control. 

"This OK?" he mumbles, and I nod right before kissing him again. The kiss is _desperate._ I can't keep from biting his lower lip and sucking lightly at his tongue. I can't have enough. He tastes, smells and looks so amazing. He _feels_ even better, soft and rough, in the perfect combination. Taught hands, soft lips. Every inch of him is made to be touched, to be worshiped. 

He slows down a bit when the friction dries up our bodies and starts to get painful, so I put my hand on his chest to indicate him to lean back a bit. He does, and I gather some spit in my mouth, wipe it with my hand and then travel down to his dick, all while looking at him in the eye. 

He lets out a moan when I touch him, getting him wet, and does the same thing to me. The plan was to touch him for a bit, but once I start, I can't force myself to stop. He's so fucking hard, and his skin seems so soft in my hand… I rub my thumb over the head as I get to the top, and he kisses me again, making a noise I've never heard from him before. It sounds like something halfway between a plea and a complaint. 

"If we keep this up, I'm not sure if I'll be able to hold on much longer," he says, speaking close to my mouth, and I'm kinda sure that hearing him say that gets me closer to it than he is. 

_God, I want to watch him cum._ I want to feel it on me, I want to hear him swear, and know exactly the face he makes when he's absolutely high on pleasure. But that's not all, I want to be the one to _make_ him cum. 

I try to get my thoughts on the line, just so I'm able to speak, but when I make a sound he changes the rhythm and moves his hand faster on my dick. All that comes out of my mouth is a moan, and he leaves out a laugh. I'm trying to complain, but I don't really want to. 

My free hand -the left one- goes down his back and I grab his ass, maybe a bit too roughly, but he seems to enjoy it. "I don't see a problem with that," I say, finally answering to his warning, and I nudge myself back a bit to get onto the island. When I'm sitting, I drive myself back a bit to give him room to get on it too. "C'mere." I whisper, and I lie back as he gets on top of me. 

His weight on me feels really good for some reason, like he's keeping me grounded, but I don't say it, I just grab his ass again, and hint him to move against me again. Like he needs a fucking hint. He's rubbing our bodies again in no time, moaning in my ear and biting my neck. I'm glad to have both my hands to explore his body again, that body of his _deserves_ to be explored. But I'm so close, I can't even think. To have him this way… I understand why people used to think of this as sinful.

I buck my hips up to add more pressure and he spasms. "Fuck, Buck," he whispers, and I kiss his neck when he hides his face in mine.

"I'm so fucking close, Stevie," I say, and a second later his muscles are tensing up even more. He lets out the most beautiful moan, and I can feel him cumming in between our bodies. The heat of it, the sudden wetness, the fucking way he's breathing does it for me. I'm thrown over the edge right after him, following him like I'd follow him anywhere else. 

I sigh when it's over, and I shiver and leave out a surprised moan when he moves again. It's too much for my over-sensitized skin right now, and he knows it. He did it on purpose. 

He's smiling at me, holding himself up with his elbows on both sides of my head. And it's a subtle smile, sincere and sweet, although we're both breathing heavily, right into each other's space. 

He bites his lip and I wet mine with my tongue. He's fucking gorgeous. He leans down to kiss me again, but this time it's slow, sweet and careful, just like the smile that never leaves his eyes. 

He looks down at our bodies and I follow his gaze before letting out a whistle. We're a mess. 

"Want to take a quick shower with me?" he asks and I laugh.

"Yeah, I think we might need it," I reply. We really do.


	8. Chapter 8

A shower together turns out to be a lot more awkward than I anticipated. We get into the bathroom just wearing our pants, and as he turns on the water, I remember the showers we used to take back in the army. When we were in the howling commandos, we used to take turns in the showers, two or three people at a time. Except back then I didn't feel self-conscious about doing it, I didn't feel this exposed. 

The feeling has nothing to do with Steve, he hasn't said or done anything wrong, it's just because of me. He hasn't really seen me like this since back then, at least not so calmly, and I'm not the same man he knew. With the scars, the experiments, the serum and the arm… how could he ignore all that?

"I think that's it," he says, checking the water's temperature while he looks at me, and I do my best to give him a smile. I stop myself just in time before mumbling a sarcastic 'great', and my eyes dart to his body for a quick second. He looks so… _perfect_ . The only thing interrupting the smoothness of his skin are the scars that _I_ gave him. They're already fading, just small traces of a pale pink here and there. I'm not built to get over wounds that quickly, so mine are still red, brown and bright pink.

When I look at his face again, his smile has faded. "You OK?" He asks with a serious note in his voice, and I shrug. He takes my hand purposefully and I realize that it was resting in my chest, covering the scars as much as possible. It must've looked kinda like if I was hugging myself. 

"I like your scars, Buck. I like everything about you", he whispers, and pulls me in closer to him. I roll my eyes. What an idiot. The poor fella's always been way too nice for his own good. 

"You don't need to say stuff like that," he frowns.

"What, compliments?" I was talking about lies to spare my feelings, but I just nod, because I think he might get upset if I actually say it. 

"Buck, I'm not lying," he says, as if he can read my mind, and I back away a bit, holding his gaze. He sighs and looks at the ceiling. 

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all," he says after a moment, making a face, biting his lip and pushing his eyebrows together. I'm afraid he's referring to what happened earlier, but when he looks back at me, there's a kind expression in his eyes. "Tell you what: we can back up a bit. And we'll just take turns. You go first, and I'll wait for you to get out. Sounds good?" he says, and he's already heading to the door.

I don't really want him to leave, but apparently I'm a big mute asshole, because I don't say anything to stop him. The door clicks behind him and I'm just left alone, feeling like an idiot and wondering why the hell I acted like that. I shake my head and decide to get in the shower and be done with it, so I can go talk to him and apologize… but when I turn on my heels, the image in the mirror catches me off guard. I’m taken aback a little. I’ve been avoiding even getting a glance of myself when I use the shower, because I was afraid of losing it again. I don’t want to zone out and cause any more trouble. But it’s more than that. I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. I really don’t. 

I force myself to look at the image in the mirror, but the winter soldier is looking back at me. Not me. I clench my jaw and his expression turns menacing. I’m so… _afraid_ of him. Of what he can do, what _I_ can do. I don’t want to be him. I take a deep breath and make an effort to find myself in the image, but the guy looking back seems much older than I remember. Worn out. Wittered. 

I sigh and try to be nice. _‘Maybe he’s been through a lot’_ I think, and then the reflection makes a face, twisting its mouth to the side. It’s my expression. Those are my thoughts floating up to the surface of that hardened face. 

That feels like enough for now. I take my eyes off of him and the lingering fear is still there. My recurring nightmare, following me into consciousness: I feel like he’s gonna start speaking Russian as soon as I stop looking at him. Like he’ll escape from my control and return to HYDRA. 

I get in the shower and try to stop thinking about it. I need to get out of here quickly. It only takes a few minutes for me to clean up and get back to the kitchen. When I do, Steve passes me by in the small hallway. I’m only wearing a towel wrapped around my hip and one over my shoulders, but he doesn’t look at my body. Although he does give me a smile and a wink, letting me know everything’s alright. The guy's a fucking saint. 

I get dressed as he showers, and then lie down on his bed and turn the TV on to wait for him. He doesn’t seem upset or mad when he comes out and sits besides me, half leaning back on the pillows. “Great. What are we watching?” he says, but I know him better than that. He’s trying to act cool so I won’t feel guilty. 

“I don’t know. You had anything in mind?” I say, and he shrugs as he takes the remote I’m offering. He goes on the Netflix thing and starts going through the movie titles. I bite my lip. He’s as far away as he can be without falling off the bed. 

“I’m really sorry about before,” I say quietly. He sighs like he was holding his breath and finally looks at me, shaking his head.

“No, man, I should’ve known it’d be too much. I get it, don’t worry about it, OK?” I nod slowly, but he bites his lip like he’s trying to pull it clean off. I'm surprised he's not drawing blood. 

“Do you regret it?” he whispers. “What happened earlier, I mean. Because I know I got carried away, but you didn't-”

“I don’t,” I leave out a bit louder, to interrupt his rambling. He leaves out the air he was gonna use to keep saying nonsense. “ _Of course_ I don’t.” How could he even think that? He should be the one running away screaming and trying to forget about it. I smile at him because he doesn’t seem to be aware of that obvious fact, and I stretch my arm across the mattress to offer him my hand. He takes it in his and scooches a bit closer, smiling back at me. He has such a beautiful smile. 

I kiss his hand because I can't help it, and he looks at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. I don't really care anymore, as long as I'm not running around killing innocent people. 

We watch a movie together and I can barely believe that this is what my life is like now. It takes a few days for me to even start to wrap my head around it. I keep thinking they'll wake me up and it'll all turn out to be a dream. That I'll be back being the winter soldier, and they'll scramble my brain again to order me on another mission. 

But whenever I start to panic, I hold on to the grounding feeling of knowing who I am. The feeling of Steve holding my hand, the sound of music, and the taste of food. I don't remember having felt this alive before. They can't take that away from me again, I won't let them.

One afternoon Steve comes back from training and finds me doing push-ups in the living room. I only use my real arm, in an effort to level out the strength in both of them. I look at him when he says 'Hi' and smile while I keep going for a bit longer. 

"Hey, man. I'll be done in a second." He takes off his jacket as he replies.

"Don't let me interrupt you, take all the time you need," he walks over to the bed and sits. He'll watch some TV, so I keep going. I switch to crunches, but it gets really boring after a while.

I get up, grab a couple water bottles from the fridge and walk over to Steve to give him one. He takes it without looking away from the screen and mumbles a 'thank you'. I want to kiss him, but I’m afraid it would be kinda weird. We're not a couple per se. We've been kissing from time to time, but not regularly, or nearly as much as I would like. Most of the time we act like we always have, more of a fraternal or platonic tint to our relationship, and that feels great too. I'm starting to think anything would feel nice if it involved him. 

"What are you watching?" I ask, pointing at the TV and sitting on the other side of the bed. He doesn't answer, so I turn to see what's wrong. He's blushing bright red but he shakes his head and speaks before I can.

"Just a movie," they come back from the break as he’s speaking and it’s the news. I look at him again, but he’s sighing. His eyes are closed and he’s rubbing them with his hand.

“Hey, you OK?” I ask, a bit worried.

“Yeah, yeah, a bit distracted, that’s all,” I _know_ he’s lying, and that does nothing to get rid of the feeling that there’s something wrong. I throw him a questioning look.

“Something happened today?” I press, and he sighs and falls back on the bed. He looks at me from his new angle and shakes his head. 

“You just look _really_ good when you’re training,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“You’re a dork,” I reply, and whip him with the towel I had over my shoulders before getting up and walking away. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I’m not meddling in his business. “I’m taking a shower,” I say from the hall, already halfway to the bathroom. “Maybe you can pick an _actual_ movie for when I get back.” 

During dinner, he asks me if I want to start training with him. Honestly, the idea of getting back out in the world makes me a bit anxious, but it’d be really nice to train in a real gym, being able to run and use actual equipment. And it’d be with him. That’s always a plus. 

“You don’t have to decide now,”,he adds when he sees me hesitating. “You can take your time. Say no, if you don’t really want to come. It’s just an idea, something I’m throwing out there.” I nod, actually considering it. “Ok, I’ll think about it,” I say and then take a sip of my beer as I lean back in my chair. 

I consider the possibility later that night, when all is silent and I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling again. The more I think about it the better it sounds. Like I could really be a part of Steve’s life outside of these walls. Like I could really be a part of _the world_ again. By now, I’m fairly certain that physical contact or effort doesn’t trigger the… _thing_ they put inside me. I know the monster is still there, but it’s a mental state, not a physical one. It’d be so much easier if it was just physical. I would gladly remove my arm if that meant the winter soldier would be permanently gone. 

The doctors walk into the room and my heart starts pounding. I instinctively try to get up, but I can’t move. I look down and see my arms are strapped to the table. Why can’t I break free? I try to look at their faces as they come closer, but they don’t have any. They’re just moving statues with blank features, faces blurred and uniform. Puppets, dolls, it doesn’t matter, I just need to get out. 

And then they keep walking, passing right by me and going to the table beside mine. I turn immediately and see _him_ strapped to it. _Steve._ My heart is threatening to climb up my throat. He can’t be here. Not him. _Oh, God, please, not him._ I try yelling, but my voice is useless, they don’t even flinch. I try fighting, but they get to him anyway. 

He’s biting down on something and has his head, arms and legs strapped to the table. I can’t breathe. _I can’t fucking breathe._ I can’t do anything to stop it. They get a scalpel and cut down on his chest, and I can feel the burn cutting down my own skin. 

“Buck!” I open my eyes and try to breathe. I’m in the darkness again. There’s no more screaming, no more russian being spoken around me. I welcome the silence and the absence of the bright light of the operating table. “I’m here,” he says, tone steady and calm, and I sigh.

“I’m sorry”, I say, almost instinctively. My heart is pounding, and I can still feel the blade opening my chest. I try focusing on breathing.

“Why?” he replies, although he knows what I’m talking about. 

“Pretty sure I woke you up,” I explain anyway, and he shakes his head.

“Couldn’t sleep either. Mind if I crash here with you?” he asks, and I smile. I wouldn’t want to say it out loud, but I really need him right now. And he’s making it sound like it’s to his benefit. I’m half asleep, drowsy, and I can tell I’m sweaty from the nightmare, but I don’t have the strength to pretend like I don’t want him here, like I don’t _need_ him here right now. So I sigh and quietly whisper:

“Please." He gets in the bed with me, wrapping his arms around me without saying another word. He doesn't need to. Everything's alright now. I rest my head on his chest and the constant beat of his heart lets me drift off peacefully. 


	9. Chapter 9

The day I decide to go training with him, everything gets a lot easier, the afternoon gets shorter somehow. We go to a gym, somewhere he's been working out in for a while now. It feels kinda familiar, like I've already been here, even though I know I haven't. I feel at ease here. 

We're all alone, and when I ask him about it he tells me that the owners gave him the keys to this place when they upgraded to a new, nicer gym. This was supposed to be a storage room, but Steve set it up like this. He moved the boxes, took out the old equipment, he sweeps the floors now and then, and keeps it nice, so it’ll feel like one of the training places that used to be around back in the day… 

"Did you put up the posters too?" I tease him, and he turns a bit, side-eyeing me.

“Oh, shut up. They were already up when I got here.” I laugh and he keeps hitting the bag. I’m pretty far away, doing crunches on one of the machines, and I’m trying my best not to look at him. He’s got his back to me, and if I did, I know I could see every single one of his muscles working and tensing up as he moves, and the sweat wetting his tight white t-shirt and getting it stuck to his skin, and his… I sigh. Yeah, not a great idea to think about that when you’re trying to act like a decent human being. My eyes do slip once in a while, though. Soldier-freak or not, I’m still human. 

But I do my best to ignore that he looks great, and concentrate on the work out. It feels really good to be able to use machines again, to have some space to move. I spent like half an hour running back a forward from one wall to the other when we first got here. Not because I thought it was a great exercise, but because I _could._ I hadn’t realized how locked up I had been feeling lately. 

I try to hit all the machines, and I even spend some time practicing some boxing. I keep thinking the bags must be a huge waste of money, but he just tells me that I shouldn’t worry about it. After a few hours, while I’m at the pullup-bar, I stop hearing Steve in the background. I look around for him while I keep going, and notice he’s stopped, and is now just looking at me while he takes a break. To be honest, I’m already pretty bored. With my mechanical arm, this is certainly not the best exercise in the world, and I ran out of motivation a couple sets ago. 

"Think we can call it a day?" he asks, and I drop to the ground to look at him. He's walking towards me.

"Sure."

"Great. The showers are through there. Want to go first, or should I?" he points at a far corner, near the exit. 

"Nah, you go ahead, I'll finish this set," he nods and leaves, but I don't go back to the bar. Instead, I just take a towel and use it to wipe the sweat off the back of my neck. 

And then I hear something that's not supposed to be there, and I'm suddenly really aware of the surroundings. Someone's in here with us, I can _feel_ it. I walk away as if I'm done and go for one of the punching bags we should clear, as if I haven't heard anything. Moving allows me to change angles to pinpoint the exact place where the intruder is. They're in one of the back rooms, where the boxes are, luckily that's nowhere near Steve, and it has two doors. 

I walk casually until I'm out of sight and then sneak behind some stuff to surprise them. I catch a glimpse of their arm, crouching behind a pile of boxes. Now that I have them on sight, I take a moment to check my mental state. I'm still me. My name's with me, my memories are as clear as they've been lately, and I know I don't really need to do anything except capture them. That's where I'll draw the line. Part of me is missing my knife, but I think it's probably for the best that I don't have any weapons with me right now. I’m dangerous enough without having any. 

I take a silent step to my side and now I can see her. She's with her back to me, probably trying to figure out my position. I'm about to go at her, but I stay still when her bright red hair triggers something in my brain. I know her. I've fought her before. 

_'Natasha'_ my brain provides. Steve talked to me about her. She's his friend. I stand down and look at her for a couple seconds. I remember the last time I saw her and I feel like I might throw up. _I tried to kill her._ I’m not ready for this conversation. I’m not ready for her to tell me to leave Steve alone -because I know I should-, and that I’m not good enough for him -because I know I’m not-. I’m not ready for her to tell me she’s turning me in, or that I should be in prison. I don’t want this part of my life to be over so soon. It went by so quickly and lasted so little. _Decades_ of torture for just some happy _months_? It doesn’t seem fair, but I knew it couldn’t last forever. The expression ‘too good to be true’ comes to mind. I close my eyes for a second and try to think rationally. I analyze her posture and her breathing. I couldn't be sure, but she doesn't seem to be on a mission. She doesn’t look like she’s here to take me out, so maybe she’s here for some other reason. I clench my jaw and try to gather some balls. There’s only one way to find out. 

"Hey," I whisper and she turns around instantly, standing up and pointing a gun at me, so I back up a step and show her my palms. "Easy now, I don't want to fight," I assure her. It’s true. If she's really here to take me into custody, I won’t fight against it. Deep down, I know she’s right. She doesn't lower her gun. Maybe she doesn’t believe me. I’m telling the truth, but after everything I've done, it only seems fair. 

"Me neither," she says after a while, and she aims at my chest instead of my head. At this point, I'll take whatever I can get, so I see that as a win. I lower my hands, turning my body a bit to hide my arm as much as I can without making her think I’m actually trying to hide something. I wish I wasn't wearing a short sleeve shirt. She doesn't need to be reminded of that. 

"Steve told you I was staying at his place?" I ask when I get the feeling that she's not gonna start talking any time soon.

"Yeah. I promised I wouldn't stop by the apartment" she tilts her head and lets out a small smile as one of her eyebrows shoots up. It looks like a practiced expression. "I'm working on keeping my promises," she adds. 

"Well, you didn't break it," she lowers her gun a bit more and I look at the opened door for a few seconds. “You came here to take me?” She frowns.

“Take you where?” I put my hands in my pockets because I don’t want her to notice that I’m shaking. _I don’t want to go._ I shrug.

“To wherever it is you guys take criminals.” I try to smile at her, but I’m not sure if it comes through. “It’s OK, I don’t blame you. I understand. But I’d appreciated it if you’d let me talk to Steve first. I...” my voice fades when I realize I’m about to say I made a promise to him, because it feels way too intimate. “I told him I’d say goodbye,” I say instead. She analyzes me for a moment.

“I’m not turning you in”, she replies, and I look at her, confused.

“You’re not?” she shakes her head, still looking at me like I’m crazy, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips. It’s not over just yet. I get a little more time. I swallow hard, because I feel so relieved I could cry, but I do my best to focus. Even if she’s not turning me in, she’s still here for a reason. 

“But you needed to see me," I say. It's not a question, but she nods anyway.

"He said you were different," she explains. 

“And you don't believe that," I reply, matter-of-factly. She's aiming at the floor now, but I make no mistake believing she's relaxed. I know she's still ready to shoot at me at the slightest of provocations, so I avoid any sudden movements. She looks pretty lethal.

"I know that he really wants to believe it. And that that might be clouding his judgment." I nod, it makes sense, I can't argue with it. "Don't get me wrong, I'm a big supporter of second chances. But I don't know if people are really able to change." I look down at the floor. The truth is that I don't know either. I _want_ to, I'm _trying_ , but I don't really _know_.

"I hope we are," I whisper, and dare to look at her again. She looks like she agrees. 

The silence takes over for a while, and then I break it when I find something worth saying. "I'm not gonna hurt him," I leave out in a breath, and my eyes dart to where he is, because that’s what she’s trying to find out. She’s looking out for him. Protecting him, and I’m glad he has people who care for him like this. 

But it doesn't seem like my words are enough. They can’t express just how much I would give to not hurt him ever again. "I'd give my life for him," I add, trying to be as honest as I can be. It's hard to be so open with someone I barely know, but it's necessary.

She looks at me like she's reading my mind and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. She doesn't seem to be scared of me, and I briefly wonder if I should be scared of her. She certainly proved herself to be quite a fighter the last time we met. 

“I’m really sorry, by the way.” The words escape my mouth without me being able to stop them. “About trying to kill you,” I add when I feel like I haven’t been specific enough. _What and idiot._ Like I could be talking about anything else.

“Which time?” she asks with a mischievous smile, and my eyes go wide.

“I tried to kill you _more than once?_ ” She nods, seemingly amused.

“Five years ago, in Ukraine.” I run my hands through my hair and let out a sigh.

“ _God_ , I’m so sorry,” I say again, and she gives me a look. Her smile hasn't faded yet. 

“Don’t worry. My street credit went way up. ‘The woman who survived The Winter Soldier himself’ is a pretty good reference.” I flinch at the name, but I try to brush it off. She’s being merciful, using a playful tone instead of a reproching one.

“Twice,” I add, trying really hard to play along. “You’re good.” She smiles proudly. 

I turn my head when I hear Steve walking out of the showers. “Were you here just for me, or would you like to come talk to the both of us?” I ask, and she shrugs.

“We could chat a bit.” Steve calls my name from the other room.

"I'll be there in a second!" I say loud enough for him to hear my voice. "Shall we?" I say quieter, turning to her, and gesturing for her to get out first, but she shakes her head and points at the door with her eyes, so I walk through the door before she does. I think she doesn't trust me enough to have her back to me. Again, I can't blame her. I hear her putting her gun away as soon as I turn. 

“Look who I ran into," I say to Steve as casually as I can when he sees me, and I suppress a laugh when he lays eyes on her and adopts this weird expression. He looks like a father that caught his kid doing something wrong. Arms crossed, disappointed look and everything.

"Romanoff… _What a coincidence._ " The sarcastic tone is highlighted by the way he’s smiling. 

"Hey, Rogers. Always a pleasure," she gives him a more sincere smile, but he looks nervous.

“What have you been up to?” he asks, and she smiles.

“You know, trying to lay low.”

“I thought you said you needed to get new covers,” he comments, like it makes some kind of sense, but she seems to get it.

“Yeah, well, I did. But this friend of mine is being a little reckless lately. It flushed me out.” He smiles. 

“A friend, uh? I think you might be-” he starts saying, but she cuts him off.

“In the wrong business. I know. Maybe you’re right.” 

“And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” She shrugs at his words.

“Could be worse” she says, and I look at them, enjoying the little inside jokes, even if I’m not a part of them. I love that Steve still has this sort of thing with someone. It’s nice to know that he’ll still have people who care about him when I’m not around anymore. When my time really is up. 

Steve sighs, and I can see that the time for small chat is over. “How’s Tony doing?” my throat closes up immediately at the mention of his name. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like for him to have me here.

“He’s holding up. I don’t see him much, but he’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.” She takes a moment and then asks the question I've already asked. "Why did you even tell him?" 

"Come on, Nat. You know I couldn't keep lying," his eyes dart to me for a fraction of a second. "To either of them." I roll my eyes.

"Never should've let me stay in the first place," I murmur between my teeth. I didn't mean for my tone to be so bitter, but I couldn't help it either, because I know it's too late now. Steve makes a face at me, he looks hurt for a second, so I give him a shrug. He sighs and turns back to Natasha. 

"You got news for us?" He asks, and her expression changes on the spot, turning serious immediately.

"Some of the guys on the team aren't so eager to work with you guys." He nods, and it looks like he was expecting something like that. 

"It's OK, I figured as much. What's the fallout?" I take a step back and raise my hands to interrupt them. This seems like a conversation they should be having without me here.

"Hey, I'll give you guys a couple minutes, OK?" 

"Buck, you don't have to leave." I shake my head and dismiss his worried expression with a wave of my hand as I start backing up.

"Don't worry, I'll go take a shower. I _do_ need it," he hesitates for a second, but then nods. 

"OK, man. You can get some clean clothes from the lockers. Mine's the third one from the left. I left it open for you."

"Great, thanks." I force a smile before turning around to start walking away. 

I hear Natasha letting out a quiet "Oh", and then there's a smile on her voice: "So… 'shared life experiences', uh?" she sounds amused.

"Ugh, shut up," Steve's joking now, I can tell. 

"And the _lip piercing_ was too much? Really?" she keeps going. I have no idea what she's talking about, but I don't get to hear Steve's reply. I'm already out of earshot. 


	10. Chapter 10

I take more time than I need to in the shower, just to give them some time to talk, but they're still going at it when I get back. They're sitting on the floor, with their backs resting on the far wall. Steve's speaking quietly. 

"I think maybe both. Or neither. I don't really know, I think it wouldn't have mattered. They weren't him." He shrugs and looks up when he hears me approaching. A smile makes its way to his lips when his eyes meet mine and I can hardly believe it. 

"Need a little more time?" I ask, but he's shaking his head no before I'm done talking.

"Nat has to go, she was just keeping me company until you got back," he says, and I offer him a hand to help him get up. The fact that he takes it with no hesitation -even if he doesn't need it- makes my chest flutter. Without even realizing it, I do the same for Nat, offering her a hand, and she takes it too. I only notice how big of a deal it is when she lets go of me, already on her feet. She didn't even flinch. 

"You guys want a ride somewhere?" we’re already out and she's got the keys to a car in her hands.

Steve shrugs, looking at me, "I was thinking we could take a walk. You're up for it?" I nod, a walk through the city sounds perfect. Nat says her goodbyes and -to my surprise- she leaves on foot. 

"She probably parked a few blocks away, I can recognize the sound of her car. I would've seen her coming," Steve explains as he locks the gym's doors, and I'm gonna have to ask him how the hell he does that. That reading my mind trick is getting a bit weird. 

I'm wearing a jacket and a hat I found in the locker, so it's nice to be out. I don’t think it’ll be too much of a risk. We walk slowly, buy some 'authentic Italian ice cream' and then keep walking as we eat.

"Oh, _god,"_ I leave out when I taste it.

"I know, right?" he replies. He told me it was good, but I didn't expect it to be _this_ good. I'm a little taken aback when he offers me a taste of the flavors he picked, using his spoon, just because we're in public and anyone can see, but I take it pretending I don't feel the heat in the back of my neck. I give him some of mine and he takes them with no doubt in his movements, telling me he'll ask for one of mine the next time we come. 

The fact that there can actually be a next time makes my heart feel like a swell up balloon. 

By the time we get to his place, it's already dark out. "So… everything OK with Nat?" I ask. I haven't said anything about it until now because I thought it was a too delicate matter to be discussing it out on the street. 

"She advised me to take some time off. Maybe go somewhere, fall off the radar," he answers as he takes off his jacket. "They won't turn you in as long as you’re with me," he adds when I take mine off too.

"That's great." He’s taken a bottle of water from the fridge and he opens it before offering it to me. I take it and nod as a thank you before drinking.

"They're good people". I give the bottle back and he takes a sip too. 

“She noticed," he says, and I throw him a curious look. “About us,” he explains. “She noticed we’re… a thing." My eyebrows shoot up, and I make a non-committal sound as I take the bottle again and take another drink, just so that I have an excuse not to talk. I wasn't really sure if _he_ thought we were a thing. 

“Yeah, she’s been trying to get me a date for quite some time now," he adds. I nod and try not to sound _too_ interested.

“And what did she say?” I brace myself for hearing the warnings she must’ve said. I know she must’ve told him to be careful, that things would be too complicated with me. God knows she would be absolutely right if she said something like that, but he just smiles.

“She was really happy for me," he whispers, and I straight out laugh, because he’s surely joking.

“Come on, man. You can tell me, I won’t be upset," I’m still amused, but he’s furrowing his brow.

"She was," he says, sounding confused, and I throw him a look. “Buck, I’m telling the truth. She literally said she was happy I found you." I roll my eyes 

“Yeah, sure. Because you really won the lottery with me. I'm quite the catch." I’m just joking, but he seems upset now.

“Yes, you are." I shake my head and start walking towards the bedroom, because this whole thing is starting to make me uncomfortable.

“ _Of course_ , man. Dating psycho assassins should be right up there with dating doctors and lawyers."

"OK, enough. I'm getting really sick of this, man." I turn to him.

“Come on, it’s just a joke," I say, putting my hands up as a sign of surrender, but he’s shaking his head. 

“You're trained in questioning techniques, right?”

I frown, confused about the sudden change of subject, but then I nod. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

He takes two chairs, lines them up one facing the other and gestures for me to take a seat in front of him. “What are you doing?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Just humor me, would you?” he answers, not really answering at all, and I roll my eyes and sit. He takes my right hand and puts it on his wrist, placing my fingers right where I can feel his pulse. 

“Do me a favor and tell me if I'm lying, OK?” I look at him like he’s gone mad, because he clearly has, but he makes it a point to ignore the question in my eyes. “My name is Steven Grant Rogers," he says, slowly and clearly. “I was born in Brooklyn.” I think he might have done this before too, because he definitely knows what he's doing. He’s setting up his standard pulse by telling me a few true statements, giving me a base parameter to work with. "My birthday is July 4th." He probably has no idea I fall asleep every fucking night listening to his heartbeat. 

Just based on his pulse, I could tell if he’s lying better than I could about myself. I don’t tell him that, though. That’d be way too much. So when he asks: “Is that OK?” I just nod and keep looking at him in the eye, expecting some kind of explanation. He sighs and swallows. 

“You are a good person," he says, and I scoff. That’s just bullshit. “Am I lying?” he asks, and I roll my eyes.

“Come on, man. This is stupid." I try to let go, but he doesn’t let me. 

“Buck. Tell me if I’m lying,” he waits a few seconds and then he repeats himself: “You are a good person” 

“This is bullshit, man, just drop it.” 

“Babe, just tell me if I’m lying. That’s all I’m asking." Did he really need to call me that? _Fuck._ What kind of fucked up game is he playing? I rub my face with my free hand and the metal feels cold against my skin. I don’t really want to play along, but I give in after a moment.

“No, you’re not," I finally leave out between my teeth in a fed up tone. 

“Good," another pause. “I think the things you did all those years were not your fault," I look away, unable to hold his gaze, I’m feeling my eyes starting to well up, and I realize I can’t handle this.

Why would he say that? How could he even _think_ something like that? “Steve, come on, man. This is bullsh-” 

“No," he cuts me off. “Look at me, damn it, you need to hear this.” I take in a broken breath, and he lowers his tone again, softens it. “Buck, please. You don’t even have to tell me if I’m lying or not, just listen to what I have to say, OK?” he asks, and I close my eyes for a bit. _“Please?”_

I take a moment to breathe deeply a few times, and then nod once and stop trying to take my hand away. He takes a few seconds more before speaking again. “I'm proud of you," he says. His heart rate is so steady it makes a knot in my throat. “Like, _really_ proud of you." I’m crying now. Silently looking at him, trying so hard to believe what he’s saying. "The things you've overcome, the way you're kind in spite of it." I take another broken breath. 

“I am _not_ afraid of you," he continues. My ears are ringing and I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear him if it gets any worse. “I trust you." He says, and I close my eyes again. I _know_ he’s telling nothing but the truth. His pulse hasn’t changed one bit since we started. No one could control something like that. Especially him. He’s always been such a lousy liar. 

He lets go of my hand, but I don’t take it away. I’m frozen. Caught between feeling like I have to run away and wanting so badly to stay. He cups my face with his free hand and I lean into his touch. "I hate that you got hurt, but I really _do_ like your scars. They talk about how strong you are, about how amazing it was that you came back from something like that." He smiles. “You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," he says, and I laugh involuntarily. _“Did I lie?”_ He sounds playfully offended, so I shake my head.

“And I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish, because you've been through hell to be here, but I'm so glad that you are. I feel so lucky that you’re with me. So _so_ lucky."

His thumb wipes a tear from my face, and I turn to kiss his palm. “Losing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he’s whispering now, “and I’d gladly give my life before doing it again." I can’t take my eyes off of his now. They are so tender, so unbelievably sweet. He’s hypnotic. “Buck, I’ve loved you ever since I can remember, and I’ve been _in love_ with you for quite some time now. So _please_ stop doubting that, OK?” 

I can feel the tears rolling down my face relentlessly now and I must be a fucking mess, and I’m so tired. I feel drained and full at the same fucking time. And why would he? Why would he love someone who has done the things I’ve done? Someone with my issues and my nightmares and my scars. 

I slowly take his hand from my face, taking it in mine before kissing it and leaving it close to my mouth. “But I'm not really me… I'm so broken, Stevie," I whisper back, daring to speak because he hasn’t told me a single lie this entire time, because he's brave and has real fucking courage, and it makes me feel like he deserves the same from me. No. He deserves _so much more._ But this is something I can give him. 

He gives me a little smile, sweet and simple. "Then I love every single piece of you," he replies and wipes my face with both hands before kissing my cheek. He stands as he comes closer and I follow him, so that we can be a lot closer. He wraps his arms around me to hug me. At first I feel like there's something wrong with me for wanting to be this close, like I should end it and pretend I'm fine. But then he whispers "No, don't let go," and I know it's ok. I'm _not_ fine, and I _do_ need him to hold me. I melt into it, hugging him back and burying my face on the side of his neck. I can't help the tears that wet his skin, but he doesn't say anything about them, he just holds me tighter and kisses the side of my face. 

I should tell him that I love him too, that he's the best thing that's ever happened to me -because he absolutely is-, but I can't get my mouth to pronounce the words. I can't get them out of my chest, so I stop trying and just stand still, letting him hold me in one piece, so that, even if it's just for a while, I get to feel whole again. 


	11. Chapter 11

When I wake up the next morning, we're both completely dressed. I didn't really have the strength to change my clothes, and Steve was nice enough not to say anything about it, so we fell asleep together in the bedroom. We're pretty much in the same position as we were when I fell asleep: my head resting on his chest with one of his arms around me.

I realize my left arm is on his stomach and I instantly feel guilty. The arm's kinda heavy, and it must've been pretty uncomfortable for him to sleep with it over his body. I ease the weight slowly, trying not to wake him, but he moves as soon as I do. 

"Morning," he whispers, voice low and pasty, and I move a bit more freely, rolling to my back to lie next to him, and turning my head to look at him. He's smiling at me, and it makes me feel like I must be dreaming.

"Morning," I say, smiling back at him. I never expected for my little oasis to be this perfect. Not even in my wildest fantasies.

"Slept well?" he asks, rubbing his eyes, and I sigh.

"Like a log. You?" his smile gets wider.

"Never better."

He looks so nice in this light. Even more so than usual. His skin looks warm, almost golden. Or maybe it's the fact that now I _know_ he feels the same way I do. 

I run both my hands through my face and my hair. The things he said last night start coming back to me one by one and I feel like I might just combust from pure anxiety. How the hell am I even allowed to have someone like him saying stuff like that to me?

He rolls on the bed till he's close to me again and places his lips on my neck really gently. My skin's getting shivers as soon as he touches me and my head falls back to give him space, but he pulls back a second later. 

"I'll go make us lunch," he says, and I open my eyes and leave out a cry.

"Please tell me you meant 'breakfast'," he laughs as he pushes himself away by lying a hand on my chest.

"No, I didn't." There's a smile in his voice. 

I look at the digital clock on the nightstand and the bright red numbers tell me that it's noon. I don't remember having slept this late in forever. Maybe I haven’t done it since I was a _child_. I feel groggy and kinda disoriented, like my body doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m… happy. I’m actually happy. 

I go to the bathroom while Steve’s in the kitchen and I look at myself in the mirror for a few minutes. The dark circles under the reflection’s eyes are a bit lighter. The tired look has faded a bit, not as bitter or menacing. I sigh deeply and allow myself to close my eyes, because I know he’s not going anywhere, he’s under control right now. I think about Steve’s words from last night, his whispering voice, his steady pulse, his honest eyes. I let it take over me, flood me like a river. 

When I open my eyes I’m smiling in the mirror. It’s my smile. My face. Me. I pull my hair back, inspecting myself. Maybe I should cut my hair, shave, get a different look. That would give me something different to look at. I scratch my beard, pulling at it a bit. It’s too messy, but I kinda like it. I didn’t have it while I was with HYDRA. 

I could trade the long hair and no beard for a long-ish beard and short hair. That seems like a good idea, and I’m already halfway there anyway. 

By the time I get out, Steve’s already making the pancakes. I try to ignore the impulse of wrapping my arms around him from behind and kissing his neck, because it feels like that would be too much and kinda out of line. Would I come off as needy? I think maybe I might, so I just say “Hey, man, smells good. Need any help?”

“Almost done. You could make some juice if you wanted to."

“Fresh squeezed?”

“Yeah, you’re up for it?” I mumble an ‘of course’ and get on with it. I cut the oranges in half and then just squeeze them one by one. Using my hands is easier than looking for utensils. 

I make two glasses and put them on the table as he finishes cooking. 

"I think pancakes are my favorite," I say when I take a sweet buttery piece into my mouth. It feels kinda weird to have a favorite of something, I'm so used to not even getting a choice. Steve's smiling, but he shakes his head when I ask him why. 

“You coming to the gym again today?” he says instead, and I make a face.

“I don’t know, man. Don’t want you to get sick of me," he laughs and serves himself another pancake.

“Don’t see that happening anytime soon." I smile, but quickly think of another topic. It still feels weird to take compliments seriously. 

"I'm thinking about cutting my hair," I say trying to sound casual. He makes a noncommittal face. "Maybe like I used to wear it back when I was…" I stop talking when I notice that I'm about to say 'back when I was _me'_ and think of anything else. "In the army," I finish, and he ignores the hesitation. 

"Looks great either way," he says while he eats, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say stuff like that, and then adds: "If you want, one of these days we can walk home again from the gym and stop by my barber." 

"That'd be nice," I reply. It sounds like a good plan. 

We don’t ‘run into’ anybody that afternoon. We just workout for a few hours, and then get back to the apartment. Same on the third and fourth day. By the fifth, we’re both a little more comfortable with each other while exercising. He jokes a bit more, I don’t try to cover myself as much. I understand that it’s OK if he sees me, he won’t freak out about the arm, or the way I use it while exercising. 

I ask him if we can stop by his barber on the way to the apartment, and we both get a haircut. It's weird to allow someone I don't know to get so close to me, and with scissors non the less, but Steve says the guy's cool, so he must be. I trust his judgment. 

Steve just needed a trim and a shave, but I look like someone completely different when they're done with me. They cut most of my hair and trim my beard a little, so I won't look like a hippie. I remember seeing a picture of a place called Woodstock while I was catching up on the Vietnam War, and I don't really like that look. 

I put my hat on to walk home, but I notice Steve can't seem to stop staring at me. "Does it look weird?" I ask while turning a corner. He shakes his head.

"It looks really good. More like I remember you." I offer him a small smile, and he takes my hand and kisses it while we're walking, like it's completely normal. I can tell I'm blushing and my heart is pounding, but we walk holding hands for a moment, and no one seems to pay attention to us. He lets go on the next corner, but I can't shake the feeling that's flooding over me: I'm not walking, I'm flying. 

If all I've suffered, if everything I went through was to bring me to this moment, then I know the universe is not so bad. 

When I look in the mirror that night, I can see myself in the reflection again. I run my fingers through my short hair, and I smile when it gets pointy and messy. It looks a lot more like the way it looked before I joined the army. It looks like mine. My choice, my decisions are plastered in my looks. 

The sixth day is almost unbearable. The humidity is so high, it feels like I’m trying to breathe water. I'm glad I cut my hair, or it'd be sticking to my face right now. 

Steve takes his shirt off while working out and I just sit still looking at him for a while. The way he’s breathing makes me think of him completely naked, moving against me and hiding his face on my neck. He’s fucking gorgeous. His broad back, that small waist, the smoothness of his skin… he turns around as he keeps hitting the punching bag, and it looks like he’s showing off. I stare at his shoulders, and the lines of his pecs. His tight core and that fucking line of muscle that frames his pelvis. I could kiss my way through his entire body. From right below his chin, down his abs and all the way to his- 

I shake my head and excuse myself from the room when I feel like I might just jump him and take all his clothes off right here, and I need to fucking control myself, so I go take a cold shower, because I can barely stand to see him like that and not do anything about it. 

I think maybe I should say something, tell him that I want him, but every time I’m about to do it, I get tongue tied, and the words get stuck in my throat. We haven’t really done much of that stuff since that time I acted like an idiot. Just a few kisses here and there. He’s sweet and caring, but he doesn’t seem to be… _horny_ anymore, and I’m starting to think maybe this is better for him. Maybe this feels OK for him, maybe this is enough. If it is, I don’t really want to put him in a situation where he has to turn me down. Or maybe I’m just a fucking coward, and I don’t want him to turn me down. Probably that last one. 

The excruciating heat goes on a couple days longer, until the sky finally gives out, the storm breaks and the rain comes. The storm is intense, furiously hitting the windows, so we decide to take a break from the gym. The plan is to stay home, maybe watch some movies. We’ve both been sleeping in the bedroom, but we decide to turn the sofa into a bed again so we can lie down while watching TV. The day is dark, so it feels almost as if it was night time. The heat subsided quickly when the rain hit, and now it’s cold, the contrast between temperatures only makes it worse, so we’re both cuddled up under the covers in the living room. The sound of the rain is making me drowsy, but I don’t want to fall asleep. 

“Buck, I’ve already told you, your arm doesn’t bother me." His voice is soft. He's lying on his back, and I have my head on his chest. Up until now I had my metal arm awkwardly resting over my own body, because I didn’t want to leave it resting over his.

“It’s too heavy," I say, but he reaches for my hand, and I comply. I try to keep it light, supporting most of the weight, but he practically drags my hand till it reaches his mouth and kisses it before settling it on his chest, like he's making a point.

“I’m a supersoldier, remember? I think I can handle you putting your arm on me." I leave out a laugh and relax a bit. Truth be told, I enjoy the way his body feels under my hand. Too fucking good. 

It hasn’t even been a minute, but the movie starts to blur, and I can’t keep my hand still. I run it slowly down his chest, then to his side and up again. I remember the first time we kissed, me touching him, slowly allowing myself to explore him. _God,_ I love to be able to touch him like this. I love the fact that I’m not immediately punished for having something so good in my life. My fingers run over one of his nipples and I can feel it tensing up as I do. Maybe the hand’s too cold. The metal does tend to get annoyingly cold sometimes. I’m about to pull away, but he puts his hand over mine, so I don’t. I try to figure out if it’s because he wants me to stop moving, or because he doesn't want me to pull away. 

I don’t really want to ask, but his heartbeat takes away the need to do so. I still have my head over his chest and I can hear it loud and clear, spiking as I move again, this time a bit ballsier. I follow the lines of his chest, and then go up to his shoulder. 

I try to be casual as I flex my leg, getting it over his hip to feel him, because I really want to feel him like that again... and I notice the way he stops breathing for a second. He’s hard. Like _really_ hard. I know he can tell that I’ve noticed but he doesn’t say or do anything. We go a few seconds in silence, and then it hits me. “Oh, fuck”, I whisper and pull away to be able to look at him. His eyes are fixed on the TV. 

“Has this been happening a lot?” He makes a face.

“Pretty much all the time," he answers, and _oh my fucking god_ , we’ve both been giving each other space?

“Why didn't you talk to me about it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady but he shrugs and makes an unconcerned face.

“It kinda felt like I pushed you too far the other day. Like I rushed things. I didn't want you to feel like you needed to do something about it." I squint my eyes, because this can’t be. 

“You don't _want_ us to do something about it?” he leaves out a short laugh, like I just said something ridiculous.

“Of course I do, I’m not _dead_. But you don't _need_ to." That kinda settles it: we’re both fucking idiots. I laugh a bit while I rest my forehead on his chest, just out of pure frustration.

"OK," I say mostly to myself after a second, nodding, because I don't want to explain to him that I _do_ need to. Not because I feel forced or anything like that, but because I actually, literally feel like I need to touch him, to be with him. I need to, or one of these days I’ll casually burst into flames while I watch him working out. I just thought he didn't want to after my little breakdown the other day. 

Slowly, I put my leg on the other side of his body as I move my mouth closer to his neck and rest my lips on his skin. He closes his eyes and his hands fly to my hip. We're both just wearing underwear and t-shirts, and I purposefully lower my body so that I can feel him in my crotch for a second. His breath gets stuck in his throat, but then I keep moving, so that I'm pretty much how I started, but on the other side of him. I want to keep touching him, and a metal hand won't do anymore. Except now I'm a lot closer. My right leg is over his hip and between his, and I can feel his dick on my thigh. Feeling just how hard he is makes me bite my lip till it hurts. I mean, I'm the same way, but it's just amazing actually being able to get him like that. He swallows kinda nervously and breathes deeply and I can’t help kissing him. 

I slip my hand under his shirt, touching his tensed up abs and going up his chest. His heart is pounding. We kiss while my hand keeps going up until his shirt is completely out of my way. 

He pulls back just an inch and looks at me when I feel his hand going down my back. He reaches for my ass and I think he'll grab it, but he doesn't. Instead, he pushes me closer to him, causing my dick to press up against his hip. A moan escapes my chest because I wasn't expecting that, and I see him smile just before I hide my face on his neck. Maybe this is how I actually spontaneously combust. 

He eases his hand and then pushes again, and I'm already a fucking mess. I can feel my sanity shattering, and I couldn’t care less. 

I move a bit, so that I'm half on top of his body, using the leg I have between his to put pressure on him too. I kiss his neck for a while, rocking against him slowly and lazily. There’s no rush, and it feels so fucking good, I want it to last forever. 

He runs his hands up the sides of my body, lifting up my shirt as he goes, and I rest on my side and put my arms up so that he can take it off.

We end up side by side, facing each other with our legs intertwined, so I take his shirt off too. Feeling his skin against mine drives me crazy, so I press myself against him while I get back to his mouth. I run my right hand up and down his back, loving the way his skin feels. 

I move my mouth down to his collarbone, then to his chest and let it linger on one of his nipples. I press it between my lips as my hands go down the sides of his body to take off his underwear. His dick practically jumps out of its restraints and hits me in the stomach. 

I wet my hand and go right to it. Steve's hands fly to his own hair as soon as I touch him, and he leaves out this gorgeous breathless whine. I'm on his other nipple now and I can feel his anxiety building up. I won't be able to have him like this for much longer before he tries to take back a bit of the control, before he feels the need to reciprocate, so I have to make the most of it. I pull away and I'm about to go down on him when he clears his throat, so I wait for him to speak. His voice comes out shaky. 

"The other day…" he starts, and I keep moving my hand steadily so that he can talk, but firmly, so that it won't be _too_ easy. "You said you wanted to touch me," I smile and kiss his collarbone while I keep touching him, like I'm proving a point or emphasizing his words. "And for me to touch you," he adds and I shrug.

"There'll be time for that," I kiss on one side of his neck and then look at him again. His hips go a bit up as his dick twitches in my hand. I wonder how the fuck is he still talking right now.

"And then you said that you wanted other things," I nod but don't say anything. I'm so close to him now that I can feel his dick half pressed to my stomach, but I keep my eyes on his. He's breathing the way he used to back when he had asthma attacks, heavy and superficial. 

"What other things?" I laugh when he finally says it and I look down intentionally for a quick second.

"Well…" I leave out close to his ear. "Let's just say that you can do whatever you want to me," when I pull away, he's got a conflicted expression. He's biting his lip, but his brow is furrowed. His eyes dart to my lips for a quick second, and I wish we would just kiss and let things go wherever they might go. But when I kiss him, I can tell he's not done talking, so I pull away. 

"I don't want to do whatever I want, I want to do stuff that you'll like. Things that'll make _you_ feel good too." He looks me straight in the eye as he says it, and I love the feeling that it gives me. I wonder how the hell is he able to do that, I have to hide my face every time I say something even remotely intimate. 

"I'm pretty sure we have similar interests right now, Stevie," I joke, and twist my wrist as my hand goes back down on his dick, causing him to open his mouth.

"I…" he starts, but he runs out of air. The light from the TV changes, and it makes it look like he's blushing. Or maybe he is, I don't fucking know anymore. He gently rests his hand in my right arm, so I stop moving. He swallows hard and takes in a broken breath. "I kinda need to hear you say it, Buck," I raise my eyebrows to look at him. "I don't want to cross any lines this time," and suddenly it all falls into place. He hasn't been holding back because he didn't like what happened the other day, or because he’s giving me space, he thinks he did something _wrong._

"You didn't," I say, but his gaze is steady, relentless. I bite my lip again and hide my face on the side of his neck, while I leave out a long sigh. His hands touch me gently, on my lower back and in the back of my head.

"Don't worry, babe, we can stop if you're not comfortable, it's OK," his voice is so tender, but he's being such an idiot. I leave out a frustrated growl and push myself up so that I can look at him.

"I don't want to stop," I say, voice steady and clear. At least I have that going for me, although I can feel the heat going up the back of my neck. The smallest of smiles twists his lips and I kiss him on the corner of his mouth, mainly because I can't help it. "I do want to touch you," I start, and I have to swallow because my mouth is so dry. I start moving my hand again and try to concentrate on the little sound that escapes his mouth. "And for you to touch me," I add, and his hands start moving too, touching my side and my arm. "And I loved what we did the other day, the… rubbing-against-each-other thing." His hands go down my body without him taking his eyes off of mine, and he pulls down my boxers just enough. 

I lower my hips immediately, moaning when I feel his dick against mine. I move up and then down a bit. The feeling is incredible and almost overwhelming, but I know that I have to keep talking. He _has_ to know how badly I want him. So I reluctantly pull my face away from his skin. It goes against my every instinct, but I need him to know that I’m telling the truth. "I want to have you in my mouth." I say, and I feel his dick tensing even more for a short second. I realize it's a bit easier to talk when we're doing this. A lot easier, actually, so I keep moving as I continue, my tongue finally untied. "Want to know what _every_ part of you tastes like." I lick his neck slowly, taking my time. I can feel him swallowing hard, and his fingers tense, digging into my shoulder and my back. 

"And I want to be in your mouth too," I add, brushing his lips with my flesh fingers. I'd _love_ to be in his mouth, he has the nicest lips. I move more desperately against him while I look at his mouth, simply because I can't resist it. "You've always had the most beautiful lips," I say, out of breath. "The most kissable, fuckable lips I've ever seen," he puts his hand on the back of my neck and pushes me towards him to kiss me again. The kiss is messy, despertate, almost aggressive. Absolutely sinful. 

The mere idea of his lips sliding down my dick and his tongue swirling on the tip- I stop thinking about it because otherwise I might just cum right now. I swallow hard and take one of his hands, pining it to the pillow right above our heads. He intertwines our fingers and I pull my face away again. I'm out of breath, but I like the way he reacts to my words, so I want to push it further. 

"Then I would like for you to fuck me," I say, and I feel his whole body tense up against mine, "If you're into that." He just moans and grabs my ass with his free hand. I _think_ it’s safe to say that he's into it. "Are you?" I press, and he growls.

"I want it so bad, babe. I'll make you feel real good, I'll do anything you want," he promises, and I shiver. I’m moving faster, and I barely pause to wet the both of us with my hand.

"And maybe I could fuck you too, but we can talk about that." I smile when he closes his eyes and uses his hand to press me down harder. Seeing him like this is driving me completely crazy, it's almost too much. Almost. 

My head spins for a second when he turns the both of us to be sort of on top of me, although we're both kinda on our sides. He keeps up the same rhythm while he rocks against me. I can feel myself losing control in the most amazing way imaginable. 

"Is it OK if we finish first? Like this?" His voice is lower that usual, and it's like he read my fucking mind. I nod, and he moves harder, still looking at me. I can see him fighting it, I don't want him to fight it. “I want you to cum for me," I say, and he closes his eyes and lets himself go, and I feel him cumming while he moans my name. Seeing him like that is all it takes for me to be thrown over the edge with him. The pleasure is so sharp I can barely handle it. I shiver when he moves again, and it takes a few seconds for me to calm down… but we are _far_ from stopping.

Literal _hours_ go by before I'm able to keep my hands off of him. It's like the more time we spend together, the more time I want. And the quick recovery time -courtesy of our serum treatments- has us bouncing back in no time after each session. 

I close my eyes and feel the pleasure slowly subsiding. This has to be the most amazing thing I've ever felt, and I'm holding on to it like my life depends on it, because I think it just might. The waves of pleasure just kept coming, taking over my body and making my limbs numb. It went on _forever_ , and I'm not even sure that it's completely over. 

"How the fuck is that even _possible_?" I say when I'm able to speak again, and then shiver when I try to move. He's lying on his back beside me, trying to catch his breath too.

He reaches for his shirt and offers it to me.“I have to wash it anyway," he says, so I use it to clean myself a bit, and then he takes it and does the same before throwing it to a corner of the room. 

He looks at me for a second with a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re-” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Steve, I swear, if you ask me if I'm OK _one_ more time, god help me, I'm gonna punch you," he laughs, because he knows I’m joking, and I wait for him to be quiet again before I speak. “I think I’ve never felt better," I say quietly, and I see his smile through the corner of my eye.

“Was about time you felt good. Just for the sake of the balance of the universe." I leave out an unconcerned laugh. I think the word ‘good’ doesn’t cut it, but I can’t bring myself to correct him. 

I see him moving a bit, and then feel the sheet gently falling over the both of us, followed by the covers. I smile, because it makes me feel way more comfortable, not so exposed. 

After a few minutes of silence, I feel him looking at me, so I turn my head towards him. I'm still a bit dizzy, like I'm floating. My left hand is resting over my chest, and he reaches for it and intertwines our fingers. I look at the contrast between the shiny metal of my hand and the pale flesh of his. 

"Can you feel things the same way with it?" he asks, and then takes my hand close to his face and kisses it lightly. I feel my chest swelling.

"Yeah, pretty much. It just takes a bit more effort for something to hurt." He frowns. 

"Well, I don't want to hurt you," he says nonchalantly, and kisses my wrist. I can't help but smile, but I turn to the ceiling again, it’s kinda overwhelming to know the massive amount of truth in those words. He _doesn't_ want to hurt me. I feel like _everybody's_ been out to get me for a long, _long_ time. 

A few more minutes pass in silence, and I start to drift off, but I don't really want to fall asleep. I don't want this moment to end. I don't want any of this to be over. 

"Had you done that before?" He whispers, and I look at him again. His eyes are tired, but I can see the curiosity in them. "With a guy, I mean," he clarifies, so I shake my head.

"Not that I remember, no." 

He whistles and I laugh. "Then why with me?" I laugh some more. I feel like I'm drunk.

"Sounds like you're complaining, man," I say as a joke while I turn to lie on my stomach. 

" _God, no,"_ he laughs for a second. He seems kinda drunk too. I don't remember having seen him like this in a long time, maybe since before the war. "I'm just curious. We haven’t really had a chance to talk about this. I didn't even know that you liked men."

"Yeah, I didn’t know either, so it kinda took me by surprise too. It was weird at first, I tried to fight it, but I've dealt with it already. I'm cool now." 

"How did you realize?" I make a guilty face and hide my face in the pillow for a second.

"It kinda hit me when I saw you walking around in a towel." I dare to look at him again, and he's got his brow up and his cheeks are softly blushed. "How about you?" I ask before he can say anything because this is way too embarrassing to be discussed. He swallows hard and sighs. 

"Kinda the same. Took me a while to accept it, but I'm OK with it now," I shake my head. 

"No, I meant: 'have _you_ been with a guy before?'"

"Oh," he turns his body on his side to face me and he's so close I kinda lose my train of thought. "A guy kissed me once, does that count?" he says with a face and I shrug. I have no idea. He leans in and kisses me, catching my lower lip between his for a few seconds. It's mellow and slow, sweeter than any kiss I've had before. 

"It didn't feel anything like this, though," he adds when he pulls away a little, running his thumb on my lips. I want to ask how _this_ feels to him, but I don't have the balls.

"Why? How did it feel?" he's still looking at my lips. 

"We were at a bar -the team and I- and I went to the bathroom. Sometimes people recognize me and come up to me, but they usually respect certain places. This guy was a bit drunk so he didn't." He makes a pause and snorts a laugh. "Earlier that week I had gotten a dog out of the way of some falling stuff. I think it was rubble or something like that. The poor dog was terrified."

That's the most Steve thing he could've said, and it makes me have to get closer to him. I slide my arm over his waist and up his back. He scooches closer too, but I don’t know if he’s aware that he's doing it. 

"He tells me that it was his dog, that she was everything that he had, thanks me, and then grabs my face with both hands and plants a kiss right on my lips." He laughs a bit. "Then he just up and leaves. I don't even think it was really a _kiss._ I mean, it _was,_ but not like a real one, I think it was just like a… an enthusiastic thanks? Maybe? I don't know." I don't like the idea of someone else kissing him, but I have to admit that it sounds pretty funny. 

"And how did it feel?" I ask when I realize he hasn't said anything about that.

"Honestly? I don't really know, all I could think about was _'God, I hope he washed his hands',_ " I laugh out loud at that and he looks at me smiling. He shrugs after a few seconds, "I don't even think it counts as a kiss… but it got me thinking about it." 

"It would, yeah." 

He stays quiet for another minute, just looking at me and running his fingers on my face and my hair, and the moment is so incredibly intimate that I have to remind myself a few times that it's OK to feel this way, that I trust him. Because I do, _wholeheartedly,_ but how could someone get used to something like this? Part of me still expects that I'll be punished for feeling this well.

"And then you got here, and you were so… _attractive_. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you, couldn't think about anything else. I wasn't expecting to feel this way for you." I smile, because even if it sounds like he's crazy, I _know_ he truly believes it. "I tried to leave you alone, to keep quiet about it. I really tried. But I just couldn't anymore."

I leave out a laugh. "Well, you beat me to the punch for about a second, I was _just_ about to say something to you too."

His face lights up and he pulls his head back a few inches, looking at me. " _Really?_ " I nod, and he bites his lip. "It would've been nice to hear you say it." I laugh again -I can't seem to stop- and clear my throat. 

"It was something on the lines of 'Hey, baby, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?'" I can't keep a straight face, and he tries, but fails almost immediately.

"You're a jerk," he says and shakes his head. He rolls to be in his back and I follow him, keeping our faces close.

We're both smiling, but I kiss him anyway. "I was gonna say that I had been a bit confused lately… about how I felt about you." I make a pause and kiss him again. "I was gonna tell you that it was OK if you wanted me to leave."

"I wouldn't have asked you to leave. Even if I didn't-" he says, but I interrupt him.

"I know. I just had to give you a choice." 

I roll back to my side and sigh. "But I'm glad I didn't say it. It was bullshit," he frowns and looks at me. "I wasn't really confused. Everything was pretty clear," I offer him a smile, because the words get stuck in my throat, but I hope he gets it anyway. Based on the way he kisses my hand, it seems like he does. 

"It's kinda weird to think about how things would've been for us if we'd stayed in our time, isn't it?" I look at him as he speaks. _"For us,"_ he clarifies, gesturing to the both of us with a wave of his hand. I try to picture how it would've been. 

"You think we would've ended up doing something like this?" I ask, but I already know the answer. Probably not. It wasn't something you could even consider back then. It wasn't accepted. Like if any kind of love could be more valid than the kind I feel for him right now. My hand is in his now, and I watch him as he slowly takes it to his face again and gently presses his lips to each one of my knuckles.

"I know I would've thought about it," he says quietly. "I mean, you know I've always loved you, you were there for me when nobody else was. And I admired you so much… I think it would have been a matter of time before I'd figured out how nice it would've been to kiss you goodnight instead of just hugging you." 

There's tears in my eyes now, but I try to ignore them as best as I can. How the fuck is he able to say stuff like that? Why would he even _think_ stuff like that? "You admired me, man?" I say, trying for a joke but failing miserably. Anyone would be able to hear the knot in my throat from miles away. He looks at my eyes again and rests his hand on my face as he speaks. 

" _Of course_ I did, Buck. You were always my hero." He whispers. “You still are," he adds, and there’s not a trace of irony in his voice. Not an ounce of mockery. He’s just as honest and truthful as always, and I can't keep my eyes from welling up. It's taking all my strength to take this seriously, to not joke about it or brush it off, to _actually_ listen to him. I'm trying so hard to believe it, but my brain is fighting it just as fiersfully. 

"You were always mine," I say slowly and he smiles, but the smile is way too big and feels kinda forced.

 _"Thank you, serum,"_ he jokes and I frown. He's always telling me that I shouldn't do that, and then goes and does it himself. But then I think that maybe he's being serious too, that maybe he really believes that, just like I do when I say stuff like that, and I can't stand the idea. So I try to tell him otherwise as clearly as I can. 

"I'm talking about the scrawny guy too. The one who was always willing to stand up for what was right. Even against all odds," he smiles. “You’re the best person I know. You always were, serum or no serum." His smile turns sweeter and it creeps up to his eyes. He looks warm with that smile. It’s so hard to talk when he’s looking at me like that. Someone like me shouldn’t be allowed to have someone like him looking at them like that. But he’s here, and he’s looking at me like I’m the most amazing thing in the world, so I just let it flood over me and I kiss him on the corner of his smile. 

"I've told you," I add when I pull away. “I'd follow that guy anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _God_ , I struggled so hard with this chapter, you wouldn't even believe it! I was gonna do a full on smut scene -I made it, I actually wrote it-, but then decided on doing something with more of a "fade to black" style, so I basically ended up with two versions of the same chapter. I mulled it over for a few days, and then finally decided it was best to keep it short. It seemed like it was dragging otherwise. Let me know if you think I made the right choice!


	12. Chapter 12

My oasis just keeps getting better every day. Steve and I find a good balance between the friendship we've always had and this new aspect we keep uncovering. 

Some nights I get anxious. Something deep inside me keeps repeating _'the higher you rise the harder you'll fall'_ , like a broken record over and over again. It feels like a clock is ticking on the back of my head, because nothing can be this good for this long for someone like me. It wouldn't be fair. But when those thoughts creep into my mind, I roll over in the bed and put my head on Steve's chest. Listening to his heart works every single time. Like a charm. 

At what feels like lightning speed, weeks become months, and I start to feel like I'm finally home. Although I suspect it has little to do with the place, and lots to do with him.

Going to the gym has become familiar too. Nat shows up this afternoon, as she's been doing lately. She just stops by every once in a while to catch up or hang out with us for short periods of time. I kinda like her, turns out we have a lot in common. 

"If you keep that up you're gonna need a safe word, boys," she says as she enters the gym, and we both look up. We're in the ring, practicing some moves, and I have Steve on a lock, using enough force to immobilize him, but not nearly enough to choke him. I can't see his face, but I'm pretty sure we're both frowning right now. 

"What?" he asks as I let him go, and she flashes him a smile. As I always do, I check his neck to see if I hurt him, but there's not a mark on him.

"Never mind. What are you guys up to?" she leans on the ring looking up at us. 

"Just practicing. You want in, Romanoff?" he answers as we go back to our initial positions.

"And give away all my moves? _No, thank you,_ " she purposely slurs on the last frase, making it seem like it was a ridiculous proposition. Steve rolls his eyes, and then looks back at me. I nod and we both start moving slowly in a circle to our left sides, looking for an opportunity to attack. It took weeks for me to feel confident enough to agree to do this, but we move much slower than usual -like regular people-, and don't really use our real strength, so it's not as dangerous as it could be. 

We know each other's basic tactics and go-to moves pretty well by now, so at times it almost feels like a practiced choreography, but that just makes it more of a challenge. We are kinda forced to improve, just for the sake of keeping it interesting.

He starts with four punches, which I block to throw a knee and a kick to his side. The knee gets him, but he jumps the kick and uses the opportunity to knee my stomach. I back out to avoid the worst of it and try to get him with five hits in a row: left, right, right, kick, left hook. The hook gets him, and I worry because it might have been too much, but he seems alright. Didn't even get him off his feet, but he looks a bit disoriented. 

"You OK?" He nods.

"Yeah, don't worry". He comes at me, _collides_ against me and we hit the ropes. He's got his arms around my body, right above my stomach, so I get a couple of soft elbow blows to his back before he can push us both to the ground. He straddles me, pinning my left arm with his knee. I could get it out if I wanted to, but it wouldn't be fair. He's not using all his strength to immobilize it, so I can't use all of mine to get it free. Instead, I use my right arm to push him to his side and roll us over. 

He looks surprised when I get him on the ground, pinning him down with both his arms over his head, and I kinda want to stay between his legs. Our eyes meet for just a fraction of a second, and I know he's thinking about it too. But Nat is here, so we have to behave. I swallow hard and get away from him, because if we're talking about fighting, you _never_ should end up between Captain America's legs. He knows how to use them as an advantage too damn well. He would've had me in a wrench in a second if he hadn't been otherwise distracted. 

We stand up quickly and get right back to it. I try three blows, and he blocks them pretty easily. He's a really good fighter, even without his shield. 

I block five jabs and a knee, but fall backwards when I barely dodge a new kick of his, one where he went four fucking feet off the floor and made two turns in the air. “Nice!” I say, right after pulling myself up. It was an awesome kick. 

“Thanks, I try,” he replies, and I go in for the offensive. The round’s kinda leveled until he manages to get me off my feet again and grabs me in a lock. He has one of his legs around me and his face on my hair. 

We have a rule: if you can’t escape from a lock without seriously hurting the other person, then you’re done. So I weigh my options. I could break his wrist, elbow his side or head bump his nose... Which means I _could_ get out, but it would definitely hurt him and that’s out of the question, even without the rule. So I tap my fingers on his arm and he lets go immediately. 

"Nice going," I smile as he looks at my neck. 

"You guys should sell tickets," Nat says when we get off the ring. We call it a day after that, and go for pizza with her. She’s turning out to be quite fun to be around. Maybe she's just doing it to keep an eye on me, to make sure I don't go rogue or anything, but to be perfectly honest, I'm OK with that. It feels like a safety net. If I ever _do_ lose control, I know that it won't be long until someone finds out. And if Steve can't or won't stop me, I know she will. She came pretty close the last time we fought. She might not have the serum, but she has aiming that would make anyone jealous. Although I haven't met Clint yet. Steve says he's even better. Hard to believe. 

The pizza place is nice, not too crowded. The few looks that we get while eating are directed at them, and not me. That's always a good thing. 

But good things can’t last forever, I know that better than anyone. 

One morning I'm getting out of the shower and I hear voices coming from the living room. I don't know if I should get out of the bathroom or hide until they're gone, so I get out quietly and stay in the hallway, trying to figure out if they're a threat or not. 

"Buck, everything's fine, you can come out," Steve says, and I breathe again. How the hell did he even know that I was here? Did he hear me? I literally wasn't making a sound, not even breathing. I take a step out to find Steve sitting on the couch with Sam, the winged guy. I swallow hard and shove my hands in my pockets. I'm really glad I'm wearing a hoodie. The long sleeves are always a plus when you're trying _not_ to remind people that you're HYDRA's nice little version of Frankenstein's monster. 

"Hey," I say quietly, going for the most unthreatening thing I can think of. To be fair, he did take me by surprise. But he doesn't look scared or even uncomfortable. 

"I think you haven't been properly introduced. Sam, this is Bucky. Bucky, Sam." He stands up and offers me his hand. It takes a second for me to understand I'm supposed to shake it. It's been a while since I've actually been introduced to someone. 

"Hey, man. Nice to see you not trying to kill us," he says, and I throw a look of disbelief at Steve. Was that a joke? I have no idea.

"Thanks…?", I say, and it kinda sounds like a question. _Great, I can add ‘socially awkward’ to my list of charming traits._

"Sam was just giving me an update on the situation," I internally thank Steve for moving the conversation forward.

"Great. Don't let me interrupt, I'll get out of your way, maybe go out for a second," my voice fades when they both frown.

"This concerns you too, Buck." I sit down slowly, trying my best to keep my head cool and not let my nerves get the best of me. "Apparently, the government knows you're here," Steve half whispers with a worried look, straight to the point, and everything crumbles to pieces. I feel the knot forming in my throat. _This is it._ The moment that I always knew was coming. The ticking clock has run out of seconds, it's sound changing drastically to a high pitch alarm. I sigh, trying to let it go. I knew this would end sooner or later, I was sure of it, and yet it still feels so sudden, so out of place. 

"OK." I whisper when I realize I've been quiet for too long. I hate that we're not alone for this conversation, because I feel like I'm about to cry, I feel like breaking down, and I don't trust this guy… but maybe it's better this way, maybe him being here will help me get my act under control. Steve doesn't need to deal with my shit any more than he already does. I clear my throat in an effort to buy some time. It's over. _Just let it go. You knew it would end._

"How did you find out?" I ask, looking at Sam.

"I still have some contacts in the army. It's just a rumor, but it's getting louder by the day. Your name was encrypted on the files we made public, but the Winter Soldier has his own file cabinet worth of information." 

"Sounds about right," I say, throwing a nervous look at Steve. I expect him to be taken aback, but he doesn't even seem surprised.

"They've been pulling information, trying to figure out your connection with HYDRA, your location, your real name…"

"Well, it's not that hard to figure out. They have enough footage of me to make a movie or two," I leave out with a fed up tone.

"Wait a minute, maybe _it is_ hard." Steve's voice makes me look at him again. "You've been dead to the world for decades, man." I shake my head. 

"I _'died'_ in the exact same place HYDRA trained the Winter Soldier. It won't take long for them to find that out and make the connection."

"Did you disappear and resurfaced in the same year?" Steve asks, and I frown while I shake my head, but I don’t look at him as I talk.

"No. They didn't have the same machines back then. They had to do it the old fashion way. It took some time for them to… break me. About five or six years, maybe. Although I couldn't be sure.” I avoid his gaze, because I haven't been able to talk about this to him. "And even after that, it took several years to train me, and some more for them to trust me enough to deploy me to an actual mission.” I make a pause. “But that doesn’t matter, the file must say where and when they captured me.”

Sam shakes his head. "I checked. They only registered the procedures they used, and the missions they sent you on." 

"Maybe they were trying to make sure they could replicate it." Steve's voice has turned analytical and controlled, like back when we were in the howling commandos. He's a soldier right now, I think he’s trying to distance himself from all of this. That’s good, he won’t like what I'll have to do. I look down at the floor, because we've never discussed this either.

"Well, they did. In the 90’s, I was ordered to steal something. It was a briefcase with more or less the same kind of serum they used on you and me.” 

“They used it?” Sam asks, and I nod.

“They made five more Winter Soldiers.” 

“That should be in the files too, right?” Steve's talking to Sam now. 

“It should be, yeah,” he answers, and then looks at me. "Where are they now?" I shrug.

"I was assigned the last mission alone, so they're probably still back in Syberia." 

"Then maybe the government's got bigger problems to worry about," Sam offers, but I know that's not gonna keep them away from me. I'm still too much of a threat to be left alone. I sigh and fall back in the chair. 

"None of this really matters, they'll come for me as soon as they figure it out." Steve looks sad, so I try to give him a reassuring smile. I soon realize that I'm OK with all of this as long as he stays safe. 

"Even if they do, we could tell them what really happened. They've read the files, they can't blame you if you were tortured and brainwashed." 

"Come on, Steve, of course they can. They will, and you know it. They _need_ someone to blame, and who better than the man who _actually_ did it?" I swallow hard, because I'm letting this whole thing get on my nerves, and then sigh again. I need to calm down, keep my head clear and my feet on the ground. _'Think like a soldier'_ I tell myself. _'Be practical, be logical'_.

"I'm familiarized with this country's surveillance routines. They're weaker during the nights. The best moment to leave is as soon as the sun goes down." I say, and it gets slightly easier when I'm talking about this as if it was a mission. 

"You think we should?" Steve asks, and I frown. I didn't say 'we'. I'm about to reply, but Sam speaks first.

"But they don't seem to be doing anything. After Shield was dismantled, they're not really sure about who was a part of HYDRA. Some of the files have been proven to be false, so they're going through it piece by piece."

"They'll get to it eventually." My voice sounds grim, my tone is controlled and calculated. "And when they do, they'll come get me," it's nothing but the truth, but Steve makes a face. 

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he says, and I wish I could do that, but I shake my head immediately, before he can talk me out of it… because I _hate_ this decision with everything I have, and I _really_ want to be talked out of it. I want that so bad. I'd take almost anything rather than leaving him, as long as I knew that he was happy.

"That bridge's been burned for a long time, man. You _know_ how much blood is on my hands. They have enough evidence against me to get me on death row twenty times. And if they decide to come after me while I'm still here with you, they'll get you too. Aiding and abetting a murderous terrorist," I gesture towards him.

"You're not a terrorist, you weren't in control." 

"I wouldn't be able to prove it, and even if I was, they wouldn't believe me." 

"Then we'll leave. It's not a big deal." That sounds like heaven, but I know that it can't happen. I'm about to say as much, but Sam stands and we both look at him.

"I'll head out, just wanted to give you guys a heads-up, and all our phones are being monitored so…" 

"Thanks, Sam. It means a lot to us. We really appreciate it,"

"No problem, man." He nods in my direction and goes for the door. As he's about to go out, he turns to add something. "Want to know what I think?" He says, and we both nod. "If they were going to do something, I think they would have already done it. Maybe they're just, you know, checking if you're under control. Maybe keeping your head down is the smart thing to do right now." 

He leaves, and the room goes dead silent. I close my eyes and pretend for just a second that this is all a nightmare. I slowly pull myself up. _I don't want to go._

"You asked me to tell you if I was leaving," I whisper, so that my voice won't break. "I'm leaving as soon as the sun goes down… and you can't come."

"Come on, man. You know me better than that," I can tell by his tone that he's trying so hard to sound as if he was OK, but I know he's about to break just as much as I am. He gets closer and puts his hands on the sides of my crossed arms. I avoid looking at him, but he searches for my eyes until I do. "Don't do that, babe. Please don't shut me out." He sounds broken. I give in a little, touching his face too, because he also _looks_ broken, and I simply can’t take it. 

"I don't want to turn you into a criminal, Stevie," I whisper. "You deserve _so much_ more than that." 

"Buck, I don't give a fuck about the law. You know that. I just want to do the right thing. Even if I didn't love you, you're still innocent, and I'm not about to let them take you, or force you to escape as if you weren't. _You're_ the one who doesn't deserve that." I shake my head. He's got it all wrong. I'm about to tell him that, but he cuts me off. "Let me do some digging, I still have a few acquaintances here and there. I can ask around. See if they'd be willing to make a deal." 

"What do you mean by a deal?" He shrugs.

"I don't know, maybe some sort of parole? The avengers are OK with you being here as long as you're with me, so maybe they could be too." I make a face. The only reason the Avengers agreed was because of him, out of respect or love. The government doesn't have those bonds, their view in the matter won't be as biased. 

"Let’s just think about it for a few days, alright? Calm down, analyze our options," as he speaks he puts both his hands in my face again and I close my eyes. The conflicted feelings grow inside me until I think I might break in half. I'm a fucking soldier, I should just accept my faith and face the battle that's been laid on me… but I want to stay so badly. Every inch of me craves to stay a moment longer. 

"I never should've come here," I whisper, and his eyes reflect the pain that I'm feeling. "Why couldn't I just leave you alone?" I ask and he raises his eyebrows.

"You think I would've been better off? Buck, if you hadn't come here, I would've never stopped looking for you." He kisses me gently and then looks at me in the eyes again, staying just a couple inches away. "Everything's gonna be alright. OK?" His tone is as sweet as his lie, and I let the sound of his voice wash over me. It's impossible to fight it. "Let's give it a couple weeks, I'll see what I find out, and if anything changes, we'll leave. Both of us," he says. He really looks like he means it. Like he'll give up all of this to come with me. He really shouldn't think like that.

"A couple weeks," I repeat, because I don't want to promise him that we'll go away together. He has a life. He had one before I arrived, and he could get it back. He could. 

He hugs me, and I hang on to him, face buried in his hair and hands clinging to his clothes. I'm trying so hard to pretend I'll never have to let him go. 

\---

I'm not hungry, and I don't think he is either, but we go through the motions anyway. We cook lunch and sit at the table looking at our plates like neither of us is sure what they're for. I sigh when I realize that I won't be able to pass a single bite. 

"I wish we could get a drink," I say. "That it would make a difference," I add when he looks at me.

"That'd be nice," he answers quietly.

"Have you ever really tried?" I ask, because he has explained to me that alcohol won't work on us, but I don't know if he has put it to the test. 

"Once," he says and gets up to clear our nearly untouched plates.

"When?" I press, because it sounds like he's holding back. He's facing away from me, pretending to wash the dishes. 

"When you died," he replies after a moment. I can tell he's trying to sound OK, but I notice the way his shoulders are set, and I know he's not. "When the rest of us went back to the base… it felt like I couldn't breathe anymore." His voice shivers and I get up and wrap my arms around him from behind, placing both my hands on his chest and resting my head on his shoulder. His hands fly up to my arms to complete an improvised hug. 

"I went back to that bar we used to go to. The one that they blew up, remember?" I nod. "I guess I needed to feel close to you. I needed to be some place where we had been ourselves, and not part of the howling commandos." I hear the knot in his throat now, but I don't say anything about it. I just hug him harder. "Because I hated that you were in the howling commandos. If I hadn't dragged you into all of that, you would've still been alive." 

"I _am._ " I say quietly, pressing my chest to his back so that he can feel my heart.

"If it weren't for me, they never would have gotten to you," he adds, and now I know what's really going through his head, why he's still so affected by this, even though he knows I didn't really die that day. It's guilt. “They tortured you for _so long_ , you said it yourself, it took _years_ for them to break you, they used you to do those things, and if I hadn’t-”

“Steve, stop,” I cut him off because neither of us should be thinking about those years. 

I turn him, so he's facing me, but his eyes don't meet mine. 

"Hey…" I whisper. "How could you think that? I would have died in Azzano if it weren't for you. And I _never_ blamed you for the train."

"It was my fault you were there that day. I got careless, I went too far too quickly and they got us separated because of that. And I couldn't keep you from falling. I tried, Buck. I _swear_ I tried." He says the last frase like he's trying to convince me. Like I wouldn't know or like I wouldn't believe him. 

I put my hands on the sides of his face and rest my forehead against his, gently shushing him. He's not supposed to think stuff like that. He's supposed to be the smart one. 

"Listen to me carefully, OK?" I whisper, and he nods after a second. "I _know_ you tried. _Of course_ I know. I've never doubted that." He closes his eyes and I gain a little courage, because it's easier for me to speak freely if I don't feel watched. "We were always a team. You were always my partner… even if it didn't mean exactly the same back then," I add the last part pulling away a little, conjuring a chuckle out of God knows where. He opens his eyes again and it takes me a second to keep going. "I would've been downright _offended_ if you hadn't included me in the howling commandos, man."

He gives me a small smirk, and I plant a kiss in it before continuing. I wish I could turn off the lights and pretend like I'm invisible, but I make an effort to keep my shit together. “I think I never told you, but I was so proud of being a part of that. To still be able to help, even after all the changes you had gone through. Even after you became Captain America. Because you still trusted me to have your back, even if I wasn’t like you, even if you didn’t really need me anymore. I wanted to be there for you. I wouldn't have let you go alone."

I swallow hard, because my chest feels tight with the confessions, and my hands are shaking with the effort it takes for me to speak my feelings like this. But he’s hurting and I can’t let that pass. I can’t ignore it, I’ve never been able to ignore it. He closes his eyes for a moment again, and rests his head on my shoulder. It feels like it's made to fit there. 

"It never mattered if I needed you or not. I've always _wanted_ you with me. I still do. Maybe more than ever." The lump in my throat gets thicker and I stroke his back.

"I'm here now," I say quietly, because I can't promise him anything more. 

He holds me tighter, probably hearing the silent words behind the ones I say. We both know that we're on overtime right now. We both know that it can't last forever.


	13. Chapter 13

We try to avoid the recurring subject as much as we can for the next few weeks, but it still comes up. We both hear it loud and clear when the other suddenly goes quiet, or when we force ourselves to talk about anything else. 

The alarm ringing in my head has gotten deafening by now. It screams at me when I go quiet listening to it. It's even louder when I try to ignore it. There's a target on my back, painted in paranoia and concern, and I can't seem to shake it off, no matter how hard I try. But I can't find the strength to leave. I know I should, because it's selfish to stay, but every time the thought crosses my mind, Steve is there to talk me out of it. Most of the time, he doesn't even have to _speak_. Just one touch, one look, and I'm reeled back in. I'm an easy catch. 

It's obvious that we're both trying to hold on to something that is simply not there anymore. The familiarity has vanished, the calm is gone, the sense of feeling safe is nearly forgotten. I no longer feel sheltered in the apartment, so I try to keep my own mind in line by preparing for the unforeseeable. 

I've gathered the things that would've come in handy those first few weeks out of HYDRA, before I came here. I've prepared escape routes and scouted the nearby buildings for our weak spots, figuring out our best chances of avoiding an attack. And I've talked to Steve about the most vulnerable moments, so we've agreed to start sleeping fully clothed. I feel way better knowing we have high chances of getting away if something does happen. 

I've stopped going out completely -at least the recreational outings-, trying to minimize the risks, and Steve only goes out if he absolutely needs to. Turns out he's scared of leaving me alone because he thinks I won't be here when he comes back. Which I can't deny, because it's exactly what I had planned. And so the fights are inevitable.

Today he's supposed to talk to the team about it, and he has to go to them for that to happen. He _knows_ I'm planning on leaving, and doesn't believe me when I say otherwise. The argument is rough. He points out my lies, reminds me that I promised him that I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. I tell him that he's being naive, too trusting, too hopeful. It escalates from there. He ends up calling me a coward, which is damn right, because I'm _terrified_ that something might happen to him. And I end up telling him all the things I've done, reciting them so that he'll understand I don't have a chance in hell of redemption. He leaves with a sorrowful look, after telling me that he doesn't give a fuck if I give up on us, that he’ll do everything he can to try and stop what’s already happening, because he _does_ give a fuck about us. 

And then I'm alone. I silently cry at his words for a long moment. All I really do is think about us, about _him._ In ways we could be together without me ruining his entire life. 

The idea of leaving is an unscratchable itch lurking in the back of my head as I look out the window. I don't want to leave, but I don't know if I want to live like this anymore either. I don't know if I can keep allowing myself to do this to him, to make his life this difficult. He's imprisoned, trapped with me and my bullshit. His life is miserable, and it's only because of me. 

Down on the street I see threatening shadows and suspicious strangers, just as I always do. They're watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake, to give them an excuse. As if they didn't have enough of those already. 

People on the streets stopped being interesting to me. They became potential threats, just as before. Spies sent to ruin my life. I watch them from time to time through the shades. All of them _seem_ guilty, but although I'm aware that I'm being paranoid, I _know_ not all of them are innocent. 

It's been some weeks since Sam's visit, and I can't keep my mind off of the potential threats Steve could encounter while out. What if that was the last time I saw him? The government could capture him for helping me, they could imprison him or torture him for information on the things I've done. Something could go wrong and he could get killed in the process. 

I would tell them anything, _confess_ to everything if it meant he would be left alone, but I'm starting to believe that that wouldn't be the case. I think long and hard about all the things he said. He was right. About everything. About me planning on leaving, and about me being too much of a coward to face him, to keep my promise, to say goodbye. But how could I? How do you say goodbye to someone you don't want to leave? 

The sun starts going down, and the sky is turning a bright beautiful orange. I hear his motorcycle in the distance long before I can see it through the window. My chance to leave has vanished again, but I couldn’t leave like this anyway. I couldn’t let _that_ be our last conversation. I feel like I can breathe again when I recognize him all the way down on the street. Only then do I realize I was scared of anything happening to him while we were apart. I _need_ to calm down. The truth is that if there _had_ been any attacks, there would have been a way higher chance of being directed at me, and not him. I'm the sitting duck right now. I'm the one they want. 

The sound of the keys in the door makes me nervous, but I sigh when he opens it and announces that it's him out loud. _It's him._ Noone hurt him or took his place. He's OK. "I'm in the bedroom," I answer, and then hear him sigh while approaching. 

“Hey," he says quietly when I turn around.

“Hey.” He puts down his shield -he went out with normal clothes, but took it with him just in case-, and the silence that raises between us feels thick. 

“I thought that after today…” His voice cracks as he whispers, and I wait for him to finish. “I thought that after everything I said...”

“We both said some bullshit,” I answer quietly, shrugging. I walk to the chair we keep in the corner and sit down while he sits in the bed. 

“I’m sorry. About what I said, I know you’re just trying to do the right thing.” I shake my head.

“You were right,” I raise my hands as a sign of surrender.

“About what?” I sigh.

“About everything. I don’t want to see you getting hurt. Don’t want to drag you down with me,” I grow silent, close my eyes and rub my face with my hands. “I’m so tired,” I admit in a whisper, because I am, I honestly can't take another second of it. Of me lying to him, trying to leave, and him caughting me on my bullshit like it's child's play to see right through me. “I’m so tired of pretending I want to leave. _I don’t._ I really want to stay. Be with you.” My eyes are welling up, and he comes near me, crouching beside me to put his hand on the side of my face, giving me a smile. 

“Buck, come on," his voice is low and his tone is so sweet. "You think I’d be begging you to stay every two minutes if I thought you really wanted to leave? _Please._ I like to believe I’d have some dignity.” I leave out a small laugh and shake my head.

“You’re a punk,” I say back, and his smile grows bigger. He gives me a small kiss, and puts his forehead against mine. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” I say, holding his hand on my face. 

“Then stop,” he says with a small smile. “I don’t want you to leave either, so just stop fighting it, OK? Just… be with me. Let me be with you.” I smile back, take a moment, and then nod slightly. He kisses me again, and I swallow hard, trying to ignore my fear, finally giving in to the idea of staying. 

I open my eyes, and he smiles at me in a way that makes me feel like everything is going to be alright. Maybe part of me knows that the world will be OK as long as I can see him smile. 

"I'll be right back," he says, and heads to the bathroom when I nod. 

I stand back up after a moment, going to the window again and looking out for a minute, waiting for him while I hear the shower. It'd be nice to join him, but I stay put, making sure nobody followed him home. As if he was careless enough to allow someone to follow him. And they wouldn't even need to, they _know_ where he lives. But old habits die hard, and paranoia seems to be immortal. 

"I'm gonna need to install a couch by the window," he jokes when he comes back, his tone is much more relaxed, and I leave out a short laugh.

"That's not such a bad…" I turn as I speak, and see him going through the drawers in a towel. The end of the sentence gets stuck in my throat.

"Uh?" he asks mindlessly, and I turn back to the window.

"Maybe that's not such a bad idea." My voice sounds weird, but he doesn't say anything about it. 

"Well, we could bring the one in the living room," he replies as he comes closer to me, putting his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. I have my arms crossed, trapped in his embrace, but I lean my head back a little. "Although I kinda like the privacy of it not being next to a window," he whispers and kisses my neck. I feel the tension melting away slowly, replaced by the feeling he always gives me. 

All it takes for my mind to relax is to have him close to me. The closer, the better. It's getting dark out, but we haven't turned on any of the lights yet, so we're standing in the dim lit room. 

"Did you eat?" I ask, and he makes an affirmative sound.

"The team ordered pizza while we talked. How about you?" 

"Yeah, I didn't feel like cooking, so I grabbed the leftovers from lunch." He makes a non-committal sound and kisses my neck again. He's still wet from the shower, and now I can feel the water sipping through my clothes, followed by the warmth of his skin.

He sways us a bit, and I remember a time when I told him I'd teach him how to dance. Would've been a really different lesson. 

I sigh and let him move me. I feel protected by the shadows. His arms around me always make me feel like everything's right with the word. Like nothing bad could happen, like all the bad that _has_ happened up until now could be washed away.

I slowly realize that he always made me feel like that. He has always made my life better just by being there. 

"I know there's no music, but at least if I'm barefoot it won't hurt if I step on your toes," I laugh and close my eyes, leaning against him and breathing him in. He's the only person who can make me laugh when I'm feeling like the world is unfair and the future is dark. 

"I think I could handle you stepping on my toes," I say and he kisses my cheek gently.

"Well you don't have to." He's making it so easy to forget about everything else. So easy to feel like everything will be alright. Maybe it will be as long as he's holding me like this. 

I draw in a big breath meant to be a sigh, but instead, it comes out as words: "I love you," I whisper quietly. The words slip from my mouth like they're inevitable, drawn out by the veil of darkness and the muffled sounds of the day coming to an end. 

He's got his chest pressed onto my back, and I can feel his heart reacting to my words. 

His mouth hesitates on my neck for a second. "I love you too," he says back, and slips one of his hands under my arms to rest it over my heart. I know he can feel the way it responds to his words too, but I kinda don't mind anymore. 

"You've never said that to me before," he whispers, and I shrug. I don't tell him, but the thing is that when you know your time's running out, you need to tell the people in your life that you love them. And I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about him.

"Is it OK?" I ask in a whisper, because I feel like someone as doomed as me shouldn't be allowed to love someone like him, we're on opposite sides on the scale of value. 

He turns me and kisses me slowly. "Best news ever," he replies, touching my lips when he pulls away, and I smile and roll my eyes. As if he didn't know already. Not exactly news. He kisses me again and I'm very aware of the lack of clothing in him. My hands travel up and down his back, getting him closer, and I can feel his body's response to that fact. Exactly the same as mine. 

It feels nice to say it, to let go of that self imposed restriction I didn't even know I had. "I love you _so much,"_ I whisper, and he straight up _moans_ in my mouth. I haven't even touched him yet. But then again, I _know_ the way he reacts to me talking to him in bed. It makes sense that he likes this too. 

The sound of his moan screws with my brain, making it hard to think, but I know it's OK. I can let go of everything while I'm with him. My hands go down his back to grab his ass and I can barely keep myself from lifting him up so that he can put his legs around my waist. Wouldn't be a good idea since he's practically naked and I'm fully clothed, so I hold onto his shoulder and his waist and turn the both of us, pinning him to the wall right next to the window. I get rid of the towel pretty quickly, and he leaves out an amused laugh in my mouth. 

"That's not fair, you got too much clothes on," he complains when I get a hold of him. He's dripping, and not exactly from the shower.

"Hey, man, you're the one that came at me wearing a fucking _towel,_ " I reply jokingly as I kiss my way down his body. He laughs a bit, but the sound turns into another moan when I swirl my tongue on the tip of his dick, taking him into my mouth.

" _Holy shit,_ Buck," he breathes out, sliding his fingers through my hair, but I don't answer. I don't really want to talk anymore tonight. I don't even want to think. I just need us to be together in the same room, so that we both can feel like everything will be alright. 

We take a shower after sex, and this time it's _a lot_ more fun. We just lazily make out through the whole thing, trying for a relaxing time. I would've preferred that we had drawn a bath, it'd be the best right now, just cuddle in the warm water, enjoying having him close to me. But I'll take whatever I can get. 

"Good thing it's stainless," he jokes while he runs his fingers down my arm, and I laugh because he's such an idiot sometimes. I tell him as much, and he just kisses me again. I wonder how I ever felt uncomfortable with him looking at me. How did I ever manage to feel judged by him? He lowers his face and kisses my scars as I lean my head back and close my eyes to avoid the water. How could I ever think about _leaving_ this? Where would I find the will power? I'm not strong enough. Not selfless enough. Not good enough. 

We go to bed after the shower, and I fall asleep with my head on his chest, my ear pressed to his heart. His heart beat has turned into a lullaby for me, helping me sleep, grounding me to sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know not much happens in this chapter, but I was feeling cheesy so I needed them to have a sweet moment together. And it's this short because the original version was way too long and I had to break it into two parts. I'll upload again shortly, sorry! ♥


	14. Chapter 14

It takes them some time to make a move, but they eventually do, and the second I realize it's over, I know no amount of time would've been enough with Steve. 

We're sleeping, and I'm finally starting to feel safe again when the sound of broken glass has us both flying out of bed and adopting defensive stands on either side of it. I have a gun in my hands and Steve has taken his shield in his. 

The noise was caused by a smoke bomb, but it goes off before we're able to neutralize it. The smoke is dense but it hasn't spread yet, so I check if Steve's aware of it. He is. He won't breathe it in. 

We analyze the situation for a split second and then start moving immediately. Broken glass sounds come from the kitchen and I know the whole place is compromised. They're hitting the front door too. A guy gets through the window aided by a wire and I kick him hard on his side before he can set his feet on the ground, sending him flying against the wall. 

I feel a bullet zooming pass my ear and get down aiming my gun at the door, but I see Steve has hit the other shooter's arm to deviate his shot, that's why he missed. He hits him in the face with his shield and the guy falls flat. He came from the kitchen, and he's not alone. They're all wearing breathing masks, but they have police uniforms and are completely geared up. 

I'm forcing Steve to fight the good guys. They're on the same side. Another guy comes through the window and we switch places. I put away my gun, and Steve tosses his shield to me as he kicks the intruder right back out. He's still attached by his wire, so he'll be OK. At the same time, I use the shield to protect us from the gunshots coming from the kitchen. 

I run out the bedroom door and hit the person shooting an automatic gun, sending them flying back against one of their partners. I toss the shield back at Steve as I go for the one in the left, stopping the bullets with my hand. 

I reach for the gun he's holding and crush it in my hand leaving it useless. He looks scared, but I know I can't leave him alone, so I grab him by the neck and push him against the wall just hard enough so that the helmet on his head will be useless. 

He falls limp to the floor and I look back at Steve. He's taken out three more people. Neither of us is breathing, so we can avoid the gas, and I know that we're running out of time. There seems to be a clearing in their attack, so I throw him a questioning look, and he nods in response. 

We move quickly into the kitchen, I slide my metal hand on the window frame, getting rid of the shards of broken glass and stick my head out. There's snipers on the roofs of two nearby buildings, but I only get a glance before I have to lean back quickly to avoid a kick to the chin. I instinctively grab the foot and pull the guy in. Steve tears the mask off of his face and he starts coughing, unable to do anything else. We both know they aren't using poisonous gas, so he'll be fine.

I have eyes on one of the snipers, and I see them aiming, only to realize that Steve's right on the line of fire. I can see they're about to take a shot, so I shield him with my arm just in time to block the bullet. His eyes go wide when they meet mine, and he pushes us both away from the window and out of harm's way. They're not playing around, the shot ricocheted off my hand, so that means it was aimed at his _face_ . _They took a shot at his head._

It's not safe, but we need to get out, my lungs are starting to itch for air. I open a kitchen cabinet, going for the bag of grenades we have stashed, but it falls when the wind's knocked out of me and I suddenly find myself on the floor. Steve's on top of me and there's shots flying through the kitchen again. We're half sheltered by the island, but he's shielding our heads. 

He looks at me again and I nod. We get a better position and stand up as soon as there's a clearing in the rain of bullets. He's behind me, guarding us both with his shield, and I'm between it and him, aiming the gun with my left hand. I take three shots to take care of the three people shooting, but I'm careful not to take them out. No matter how much they're pissing me off, they're not the bad guys here. I get a hand and two calves, incapacitating them at least for a moment. 

Steve takes my hand and I grab the grenades before going through the window and out the fire escape. We're still enveloped by the smoke, and my lungs are already burning. He goes first because he can shield us while I quickly throw a grenade to each roof the shooters are settled in. I throw them close enough to incapacitate them, but not enough to kill them. The explosions work like a charm. 

We start running up the stairs as soon as they're downed, finally being able to breathe. We're both trying to catch our breaths. "Did you breathe it in?" He asks.

"No. You?" He shakes his head and I feel some of the panic melting.

Steve's leading the way and I'm watching our backs, so he punches the guy standing on our way in one of the clearings right after blocking his shots with his shield. I grab the gun as we rush past him and toss it off the fire escape and to the ground. No need for them to have so many guns. 

We stop before reaching the roof, and I throw another grenade aiming for the center of the space. He draws his shield up, covering us as if it were an umbrella, and holding me tight against him with his other arm. For a second, it must look like we're sharing an embrace or hiding from some rain. 

We hear commotion and people running before it explodes, and we start moving again as soon as it does. There's six people on the ground, spread out away from the explosion. One of them is moving towards a gun and I quickly kick her in the face so that she won't try anything. I toss the gun away as I look at Steve and nod. We need to move. 

He goes to the edge and takes a look, then backs out and looks at me again before nodding once, telling me that we're clear to jump. He runs and jumps, easily dropping to the other roof. But just as I'm about to follow him, someone shoots my right arm, and I turn to see a guy half lying-half sitting on the ground holding a gun at me. 

"Stop!" He orders. The pain brings anger with it, boiling quickly to the surface. I approach him holding my hand up to block any possible shots and grab him by the neck, pinning him to the ground. The guy's mouth snaps open in search for air and I see the fear in his eyes. I quickly realize I'm choking him with my left hand and let go immediately, going for the gun instead, getting it away from him. 

"Leave us alone," I say when I'm sure that he can breathe, and get on my feet to follow Steve. The jump is easy. I land right beside him and he looks worried.

"I heard a gunshot," he says, but I don't want to waste any time.

"Don't worry about it, I'm OK," I reply while I motion for him to keep going. Of all the escape routes I thought out, this one is the one I feel most confident about. We jump from rooftop to rooftop for a few minutes, hidden by the darkness, and stop when we get to one in particular. 

The access to this roof is a grey door. I force it open pulling the doorknob clean off, and we go through it. The building is only five stories, but it'll take too long to go down using the stairs, so I jump in the middle, landing on the ground and rolling to my side to avoid Steve. I don't think we were loud enough to alert the neighbors, but it's better to keep moving, just in case. 

We go through another door and down the stairs to the basement. I've hidden a get-away stash in here. "You're OK?" I ask while I move a cabinet to find it.

"Yeah. How 'bout you?" 

"Fine. Bullet wound in my arm, I need to check it out," I answer while giving him one of the two backpacks. His eyes go wide. "Relax, it's not that bad." I take my shirt off and leave it on a work table near the high window. Steve's hovering by my side while I check it out. The bullet just grazed my shoulder, so there's no need to get it out or anything like that, but the blood is running down my arm pretty quickly. "Shit," I mutter under my breath, and Steve places his fingers gently on both sides of the wound.

"Let me see," he says, and I angle my arm so that he can look at it properly. 

"I think you need stitches," I'm shaking my head before he's done speaking, and he throws me a disappointed look.

"There's no time, we need to keep moving," I argue.

"You'll bleed out half way there." I clench my jaw and try to think about something easier, faster. 

"Wait," I say as I look around. This basement is used as a storage room, as well as a place for the super to fix the things in the building. So there's gotta be… "Here," I say as I spot the tools. All it takes is ten seconds for me to find the stapler gun. "Can you do it? I'm not sure if I can get the angle right without a mirror," he takes the tool, but his face is contorted in disgust. I use the t-shirt I was wearing to clean myself a bit and then close the wound as best as I can using my left hand, but he just stands there. "Come on, man. Get to it," he shifts his eyes from the wound to my eyes, he's got a worried look. "Steve. This is not my first rodeo. We _need_ to leave."

He sighs, and finally starts moving. He staples the table first, trying out the gun, and then carefully lays it in my skin. One, two, three. 

He seems horrified, but I didn't even feel it. I'm so used to patching things up mid-fight, that this kind of thing has become normal, almost familiar. "Thanks," I say as soon as he retrieves the stapler and inspect the wound. It looks good. I take the stapler and put it in my bag in case we need it again. "Come on, we have to go." I add when I see him still frozen, even after I've put on a t-shirt and an old scrapy coat. I don't know what's going on with him, he's patched me up before. 

We hear the sirens in the distance, and that makes him snap out of it. I look through the high narrow window. "They're pretty far. I think they lost us, but we can't stay here."

"I know." He changes his clothes quickly, putting on the uniform I got for him, and gets the straps of the backpack around his shoulders. Each of us have one, filled with pretty much the same.

“We have an hour before dawn, give or take, you know where to go?” He nods as he conceals the firearms under his police jacket.

“Got it,” he answers. His tone is strained, rigid. 

I don't like this part of the plan. I've struggled with it several times, trying to find a way around it, but deep down, I know it's the best move. We're splitting up, going two separate ways until we can get to a safe point. They're looking for two men, and it'll be way easier to sneak past them if we go alone, taking different routes and opposite characters. 

We'll both end up in the same place, we've made sure of that, but still, the idea of letting him go, of not being able to protect him if something goes wrong… it makes my skin crawl.

I open the window with shaking hands, but as I'm about to climb the desk to get out, he puts a hand on my shoulder. His eyes look brighter than usual. "Hey…" I whisper, taking a moment and placing both my hands on his face. Because every second counts, but this is fucking worth it. 

He puts his hands over mine. "Please don't disappear again," his voice is broken. Not a part of him should ever be broken.

"I won't." 

"Promise me you'll be there no matter what," he asks in a whisper.

"I promise I'll do everything I can to get there," I answer, because I can't promise him results, I can only assure him I'll do anything in my power to get to him. I kiss him slowly for a minute, trying to memorize the feeling. I taste a tear, but I'm not sure who it belongs to. Doesn't really matter, his pain hurts me more than my own. 

"Will you be there too?" I speak close to his mouth, and it takes me a while to get my eyes open. He gives me a small smile. 

"I told you man, I'm with you to the end of the line. This is _not_ the end of the line." I hug him, breathe him in as if it was the last time, and then turn around and climb out the window without looking back. If I do, I'm afraid I won't be able to leave him. 


	15. Chapter 15

The road is still dark. The street lights aren’t really all that bright if I keep myself under the trees’ shadows. I sigh and remember the plan, step by step. I need to get to the other side of the city without being spotted. That’ll be kinda hard, since I’m probably wanted by every governmental agency, but I need to do my best. I promised Steve. 

First of all, I need to get my cover. Sunglasses and a hat won’t do me any good during the night, so I walk to a back alley two blocks away. It’s a place where junkies and homeless people hang out around fires. I walk to them, approaching slowly, and look at the layout. There’s four people around the fire, two more talking to each other in a corner drinking something, and one lying on the floor, sleeping in the far end. 

The ones drinking have what I need: a shopping cart filled with plastic bottles, newspapers and some worn out rags. I go to them slowly and they turn their attention to me, I can smell the coffee in their metal mugs. I keep my back turned to the fire, so that they won’t see my face properly.

“How much for the cart?” I ask in a low voice.

“Sorry, it’s not for sale,” the woman responds, and I look at her.

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Name your price.” 

She darts a look at the man. “For the entire cart?” The man asks.

“For the cart and everything in it.” I answer. They exchange a look, and the woman leans to whisper in the man’s ear. ‘ _Ask for too much, so that he’ll leave’_ , she says quietly. My enhanced hearing helps me out a bit. They seem like nice people. 

“300,” says the man, and I smile, still trying to keep my face in the shadows.

“Tell you what. I’ll give you 400, and if anyone asks, this never happened.” The woman’s eyes go wide.

“Deal,” they say at the same time. 

As I walk slowly down the street, I take off my backpack and put it in the cart, hiding it under some bottles. I cover myself with an old blanket and rub my face with some mud from the next tree I see. My pace is slow and pitiful as I walk through the city. If I’ve learned anything from years of chasing people, is that it’s easier to run away if you’re not actually running. _Sneaking_ away is one hundred percent more effective. But it’s a damn slow process. 

Everytime a police car drives by, I open the nearest dumpster and bury my head in it, acting like I’m lookin for reusables. It works like a fucking charm for about an hour, until one of the police cars gets way too close for comfort. There’s not a fucking dumpster in sight, so I keep walking, keeping my pace steady and ignoring the impulse to look at them… but I can tell they already have their eyes on me. 

They slow down and park about two buildings down. _Fuck_ . “Sir?” one of them says, getting out of the police car. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ My cover is blown. I need to get the hell out of here, every bone in my body is telling me to run, every muscle is preparing to sprint, but I need to give this a chance. I need to try and make this work. 

"Sir, have you seen these men?" He asks. I turn around slowly, trying for a confused appearance. I take a look at the photos he's holding up as if I'm really thinking about it and then shake my head, because I'm not sure if I can control my voice. Seeing Steve like that, the police looking for him like some kind of criminal, it makes my skin crawl. The night is at its darkest point, and I feel like I might just get away with this, but I should know better by now. 

Just as he's about to leave, he lowers his gaze to my shoes -which are too new and in too much of a good shape to belong to a homeless person-, and his eyes go wide just before looking at my face again. _Shit. All you had to do was walk away._

I draw my gun before he even gets a chance, but I know I'm screwed either way. His partner is still in the car, probably calling for backup. "Don't," I say when I can tell he's thinking about taking out his gun. 

"I don't want to shoot, but I won't hesitate to do so if you leave me no choice." My voice is clear and calm. He looks at me for a moment and then nods once. "Take it from the holster using your left hand and toss it to me." I instruct, but his partner gets out of the vehicle and shoots at me on the spot, so my instincts take over. I move fast, getting to the first officer, grabbing and turning him to use him as a human shield to shoot at the other man. 

Only when I'm about to squeeze the trigger does my brain actually take in what it is that I'm doing, and by then, it's too late to stop it. It’s way too late to take it back. I watch as the bullet goes right where I intended it to go. 

His chest is now open. His heart is now torned. 

The guy I’m holding screams as his partner hits the ground, already lifeless, but my ears are ringing. I can’t hear what he’s saying. I’m frozen. I’m as good as they wanted me to be. No good at all. I can feel myself changing, giving in to the need of shutting everything off, and I desperately hold on to the shred of humanity I have left. 

I mindlessly let go of the guy and he draws his gun on me, but we’re too close and I manage to take it away before he can shoot at me. The movement is mechanical, instinctive, not really mine. He tries to hit me, but I push him away. I can’t stop looking at the man I’ve killed. His eyes are still open in a vacant stare. 

He's dead because of me, and I can’t hand around the blame for this one. This wasn’t HYDRA forcing my hand, he wasn’t a nazi trying to kill me, we are not at war. This one’s _entirely_ on me.

I back away slowly, absent, take my backpack and start walking towards the shadows of a nearby alley. I need to get out of here. I can feel the asset rising inside me and I can't let him win. I can't let myself go. 

My chest is burning and my eyes are stinging. I’m about to cry. That’s good. I’m still here, I’m not the asset, I’m me. It _should_ hurt. It _should_ burn. I deserve the guilt that's flooding over me. I welcome it, because it means I'm not completely gone. 

I try to think clearly, but my mind is so clouded I can’t even tell where I’m going. Just getting away. Just running from what I’ve done as if that would allow me to run from myself. As if I could leave the monsters inside me behind and outrun my demons. 

Now I know I can’t. 

I get to our meeting point faster than anticipated, and for the first time in my life, I'm glad Steve's not with me. I couldn't possibly face anyone right now. Let alone him. 

What the hell am I even doing here? Steve will take one look at me and know I've fallen further down than I ever had. He'll look down on me like the monster I am. 

I walk through the abandoned building trying so hard to get my shit together, to hold on and think properly, but my brain is not cooperating. The place is cold and it feels a lot smaller than the last time I was here, in the weeks after the helicarrier crush. My feet find their way to my small room on the third floor of their own accord. 

I don't have a say in the way I'm breathing either, my breath's all jacked up and coming out shakily. I lean on the wall and let myself fall to the floor. Now it's different than the last time I was here. Now I know who I am, and I know what I've done. I know that it wasn't anybody's fault but mine. I'm just fucked up. Now I know that there's no hope for me. Unredeemable, unforgivable, damaged. 

I bring my legs to my body, rest my elbows on my knees and hide my face in my hands. They used to call these kinds of deaths 'collateral damage'. Now that I'm alone, the word 'murder' sounds more appropriate. 

I remember his face, the life leaving his eyes, his partner squirming in my arms to get to him. Were they close? Were they friends? Was he a nice guy? Did I just kill someone else's Steve? Did he have a family? Kids that will be waiting forever for their father to come home? 

I can't help the tears that burn my eyes or the sobs that rip their way out of my throat. I can't stop shaking either, and it feels like all the fucking air has left the room. I hear someone on the stairs and I can't figure out if it's Steve. I don't know if I want it to be him or not. Maybe it'd be better if it was someone from the police, ready to put a bullet in the fucked up piece of shit I call a brain. _What the hell am I doing here?_

"Buck?" I don't answer. I can't find my voice. I hear his footsteps getting closer, so I cover my face, lowering it to hide it in my arms. I don't want to face him. I don't want to see the disappointment in his eyes. "Bucky, are you in here?" he makes a pause, and then I hear his breath getting stuck in his throat. "Buck!" He rushes to me, dropping something heavy on the floor next to the door. His hands on me feel out of place, too heavy, too strange. "Babe, are you OK?" He sounds concerned, so tender and caring. He shouldn't be, he doesn't know what I've done. 

I can't look at him, but I turn my face up so that he can see that I'm fine. He shouldn't be worrying about me, he should be worried about the safety of those around me. "Buck! What the hell happened? You're bleeding!" I frown, trying to understand what he's saying. _'Not my blood'_ , I try to say, and the words refuse to come out. Because it can't be mine, but how did his blood get on me? I wasn't anywhere near him. I look at my hands because he must be mistaken, but he's not. They're _soaked_ in blood. 

I can hear something similar to the sound of a chainsaw coming closer, going faster and faster, bouncing inside my head, and it takes me a minute to realize that it's the sound of my own breathing. _Did I kill someone else? How many people did I kill?_

I frantically rub my hands on my pants, trying to get rid of the blood, but I can't. It's stuck to them. I close my eyes, not able to look at it anymore. The deafening sound of my heart is hammering down my sanity piece by piece, and I can't keep the tears from falling down. Something hard and warm presses itself to my face and I hold onto it with all I have because it feels like everything else is slipping away from my grasp. _It's happening all over again. I can't remember killing anyone with my hands. Why are they so bloody?_

"Buck! _Please._ " Steve's voice sounds like I'm underwater, and I have a feeling he's been calling my name for a while. "I didn't mean to", I finally manage to say, and he holds me closer to him. It's him. I'm holding on to him. It takes a while to sink in: He's not _restraining_ me, he's _hugging_ me. Why would he be hugging me? Doesn't he understand what I've done? I don't even know. _How many people did I kill? Why did I lose control like that? How could I?_

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't mean to," I leave out, my voice doesn't even sound like my own. 

He's talking to me, but I can't figure out what it is that he's saying. It's like he's speaking an unknown language. I don't want to go back. I don't want to be the asset again. I hold onto him with all I have, because I feel like I might just lose myself if I don't. 

"Buck, listen to me, please. Breathe, try to relax, try to come back to me, babe, please. Just listen to my voice, OK?" He's speaking calmly and slowly, and I do my best to try and listen to him. "There you go, just breathe, honey. You don't have to worry about anything else, just breathe. You're here with me." He's holding both my hands with one of his, and stroking my back with the other one. 

I open my eyes and look at his hands. They're stained with the blood of my victims, those I can't even remember. This can't be. Not him. 

"I killed people," I say, because I can't take this anymore. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve his worrying, or his soothing words, or his kind embrace. I don't deserve _him_. And he certainly doesn't deserve someone like me. 

His hand stills for just a second, and I prepare myself for him letting go of me and pushing me away. Because he should. Of course he should… but he doesn't. Instead, he holds me closer, tighter, shushing me gently. 

"You don't need to worry about that right now, OK? Just breathe, try to come back to me." I do my best to do as he's asking, but I can't calm down. I can't find my way back. I didn't mean to kill anyone. I didn't even notice when I zoned out. "Remember when I used to have those asthma attacks? Back before the war?" I nod against his chest, focusing on his voice. "It was so hard to force myself to calm down, I always felt like I wouldn't be able to do it, but you just knew how to help me out of them. Every time." 

I don't answer. I can't speak. 

"I remember one time, I was having one of the worst attacks I had ever had, and you sat me down outside, put your hands on my shoulders and said _'Stevie, if I could breathe for you I would. But you're gonna have to do it on your own, ok? For me. In and out'_. You kept saying that: 'in and out', slowly and calmly until you got me to breathe normally again." 

He's not holding me by my wrists anymore. Instead, he's stroking my hair with light fingers. 

"In and out," he murmurs quietly over and over, like a mantra, until I'm able to calm down. He stays silent for a while after that, just holding me, until I'm finally able to speak again.

"I'm sorry," I say one more time, because I'm not sure the other ones were intelligible. 

I pull away from him and frown when I see the blood stain on his blue shirt. "You're hurt," I say, sort of as a question, and he looks down at himself.

"It's not mine, it's yours. You have a wound on the side of your neck, babe." His tone is still soothing. I touch my neck and feel the sudden rush of pain right below my ear. When did I get it? I look at my fingers and I can see the new layer of bright red staining the metal. My blood. Mine. Not someone else's. I didn't zone out, I didn't lose a part of my day, I just got hurt. 

"It doesn't seem too deep," Steve says, looking at it closely. "I'd say another bullet grazed you." I think about the policeman that took a shot at me before I killed him, and I have to make a conscious effort to keep my breathing on the line. The relief didn't last long, I'm still a monster. 

"I killed a man," I say quietly, because this is more important. He makes a face.

"Was he the one who did this to you?" 

"Yeah. But I didn't kill him for it, I hadn't even realized. It wasn't some sort of revenge or something like that. I didn't mean to." I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince him or myself. 

"I know you didn't," he answers softly. But I still did it. Nothing's gonna change that. Nothing ever changes. Everything's just an endless fight. A few minutes go by in silence. He just looks at me, and I just try not to crumble to pieces under the weight of his look. 

"Nat was right, people don't change," I say softly, looking down.

"She said that?" I nod, moving really slowly. Now that he got me to calm down, I feel like all my energy's been drained away. Like I'm a lifeless ragdoll. Maybe the rough night got to me, or the adrenaline ran out, and I'm feeling the void it left. "She has no idea what she's talking about," he whispers, and pulls me in to hug me again. I shiver in his arms, because the room's getting pretty cold, and he rubs my back in response. How can he be so sweet? What is wrong with him? How can he stand by me even after all I've done? 

"Buck…" he says, and I can barely keep my eyes open. We have to stay in the building until it gets dark again, so maybe there's no problem with me sleeping for a little while. Just for a minute. "Buck, baby, I think you're losing too much blood," he says, he sounds scared. I don't speak, but I make an unconcerned noise. "I'm gonna lay you down right here, alright? You stay still, and I'll patch you up, OK?" I try to tell him that I'm fine, that I just need to rest for a bit, but I'm already drifting off. I feel lighter, but every part of my body feels heavy at the same time, it's so hard to move. 

I feel him touching me for a few seconds, but that quickly goes away too when everything turns to black. 


	16. Chapter 16

The pain in my head makes me frown even before I'm fully awake. I fiercely fight the need to stay asleep, and blink against the dim light. My mouth is so dry, I can barely make a sound. I feel his hand tightening on mine and hear his sigh, so I clear my throat as I open my eyes. 

We're both on the floor. He's sitting, back against a wall, and I'm lying, with my head resting on his lap and a blanket over my body. 

"Hey," I whisper, and clear my throat again. My voice sounds really messed up.

"How are you feeling?" 

I think about it for a second. "I'm OK," I answer as I sit up to get beside him, pressing my shoulder to his and wrapping the blanket around myself. He helps me a bit, with a worried look in his eyes. "What happened?" 

"You lost too much blood, I was about two minutes away from taking you to a hospital." I shiver at the mere thought of that and throw him a look. "Well, you had two bullet wounds, _what else_ was I supposed to do?" 

I look down to myself. "Two?" I ask, because I genuinely don't remember getting shot at all.

"Yeah, the one in your neck and one in your back. I didn't even see that one until I took off your coat." 

I shake my head, "I didn't know. Didn't even notice," I'm feeling a lot more like myself now, and I wonder if the lack of pain was the asset's mindset taking over. The thought of that makes my skin crawl, but I keep my mouth shut about it. He doesn't need to be worrying about that too. 

"Were you able to fix it?" I ask quietly when he doesn't say anything.

"I did my best. How does it feel?" 

"Stings a little. Probably means it's healing," I offer him a small smile, but his eyes still look out of orbit. The silence stretches between us for a few minutes, but I don't dare to break it, because I can see his facade slowly going to hell.

"I thought I lost you again," he whispers, and it sounds like it's hard to get it off his chest. It sounds like a fucking confession. I take his hand in mine when I notice it's trembling and kiss it before speaking. 

"You didn't," I say, and then his eyes well up, and I move to hug him, ignoring my back’s complaint. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and he kinda melts in my arms, breathing deeply. “But you did really well.” 

“Yeah, I have some experience in patching you up,” he’s trying for a joke, but his voice has a tint of tension to it. Another moment passes by in silence. “You were _wrecked,_ ” the phrase sounds like a sigh.

“That bad?” He leaves out a huff.

“You lost _so much_ blood.” I wonder how he managed to bring me back, but I don’t really want to force him to talk about it. 

“How long was I out?” I ask instead. He takes his wristwatch out of his pocket and looks at it.

“I got here about eighteen hours ago,” I whistle in disbelief. It's nice to know that we still have some time before we need to move, but eighteen hours is way too much time for me. He must be right about me being pretty wrecked. 

"Thank you," I say quietly, and he looks at me again, with an obviously forced smile.

"Anytime." He sighs again, it seems like the air is not enough for him anymore. "You think you'll be good to go on time?" 

"Yeah, absolutely." The wound in my back hurts, but I'm sure I'll be able to power through it.

"Maybe you should get some rest," he whispers, and I do feel like everything aches. "Come on, lie back down, I'll be the lookout," he adds, and I can't help but remember the times we were in the howling commandos, taking turns to sleep when we were near the enemy bases. 

I slowly do as he says, resting my head on his legs again, lying on my good side. He pulls the blanket over me and I'm out cold in about three seconds. 

When I wake up again I feel a lot better. At least physically. "What time is it?" I ask, my voice sounds pasty and sleepy.

He helps me when I sit up again. "About 2 am". Good, we're supposed to leave at 3, so that it's still dark, but we don't have to wait for the ships to arrive. 

We're going to the docks, to hopefully pay our way into one of the cargo ships to get out of the country. We don't even know where we're going to first, in an effort to make our moves more unpredictable. 

"You feeling better? You seemed pretty banged up earlier." I yawn as I cover my face with both hands.

"Yeah, it's better." 

"We have time for you to fresh up a bit. Maybe you could clean some of the blood?" I nod slowly, not entirely sure of how bad I look. Probably really bad, if he has to say something like that. I remember passing a mirror in one of the bathrooms on the fourth floor the last time I was here, and I head to it to clean myself up. 

The guy in the reflection still looks like me, although I haven't seen my eyes so swollen in a while. The blood is everywhere, dark and dry, coming out from behind my bandages, down my neck, my chest and my arm. My metal hand is in no way in better condition, and my back looks awfully dirty with it. Almost completely covered. I briefly wonder how the hell did I survive such a blood loss. Even with my predisposition to healing rapidly, I reckon it should've killed me. 

I clean myself up as best as I can, trying not to think about anything, and then get back to Steve. He's already cleaned himself too, and smiles at me when I walk to him. "You look good", he whispers, and sets his shield onto his bag. "Ready to leave?" He asks, and I sigh. 

"Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here."

\---

Getting to the docks is relatively easy, and I'm glad something's _finally_ going our way. They don't seem suspicious when we buy some last minute tickets. I do the talking, so they won't recognize Steve. He's the familiar face around here, but these guys are Portuguese, and they don't seem to give a fuck about us. They don't care, as long as we have our documents -which we do, courtesy of Nat-, and the money to pay for our tickets. 

They show us to our cabin and we get in, leaving our bags on the floor. The room is small, with twin beds on opposite sides and matching blue bedspreads. It has a private bathroom and a sturdy looking dresser, but not much else. It's nice. Much better than I would have hoped for. 

The trip will be pretty long -about two weeks-, but it doesn't seem like we'll have any trouble as long as we keep our heads down, and it's a hell of a lot safer than trying to get on a plane. 

He sits across one bed, with his back against the wall and his feet dangling over the narrow space between the two beds. I sigh and sit opposite to him on the other bed. 

"We made it," he says softly, several minutes after the ship has started moving. With the door closed and the sound of the ship, there's no way anyone will hear us if we're relatively quiet. I fake a smile at him, letting my head fall back and closing my eyes. 

"About time we got away with something," he adds, and I scoff, amused. I don’t deserve to have anything going my way. I don’t deserve anything of this. I’m a murderer. Not a soldier, not a brain-washed goon, just a simple, heartless murderer. And he’s stuck with me now. 

“I bet Carter never gave you this much trouble,” I mean to say it as a sort of bitter ironic joke, but I quickly realize he won't see it that way. He looks at me, and I reckon my comment hurt him. 

“She didn’t really have enough time,” he answers slowly in a low tone, and I want to bite my fucking tongue clean off. Why would I even say that? What an asshole. I _know_ how much he loves her.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” I try to say, but he’s already shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, man, I really am sorry, I know how much you love her.” He has a nostalgic smile on his face, and I hate myself for bringing it up. As if he hasn't had enough of my bullshit in the past 24 hours. The silence is thick for a long minute, and I try to break it as gently as I can. “I liked her, you know?” I say quietly, because it sounded like I didn’t, like I resented her, and that’s not the case.

“You did?” 

“Yeah, she was a total badass. And the way she looked at you made me think she understood.” He frowns.

“Understood what?”

“How amazing you are.” He looks at me again, but I look away. “Besides, you were head over heels for her, you seemed so happy.” 

He shrugs. “I’m happy now,” he says simply, and I laugh.

“Come on, man, you were like a puppy with her, you used to have her picture in your compass," he looks at me for a moment, makes an acknowledging sound, and stands up. He walks to his backpack and fumbles around for a bit to get his wallet out of it. He sits back down as he hands it to me. 

"Open it," he instructs when I do nothing with it… and there I am. It's a small squared black and white photograph of myself, back from the time when I was in the army. I look at it for a while, not really knowing what to say. It feels like an honor to be there, and a fucking _huge_ responsibility. "I took it from your file when I first got it. Just wanted to have you with me," he says softly and I hand it back to him with a lump in my throat. For once, I'm at a loss for words. I know it's stupid of me to even think like this, but I always felt like I had some pretty big shoes to fill. Like he would never be as happy with me, as he had been with her. After all, with all I’ve been through and all I’ve done, I could never give him a normal life. But I try to swallow the lump in my throat and smile at him. 

"It’s nice to see you’ve upgraded the carrying method. Don't really need a compass these days, uh?" He smiles and shakes his head. "Maybe in a few years you'll have someone on your telephone's screen." He laughs, and taps my leg softly with his foot.

"You’re a jerk," he says, and puts his wallet away in silence. When he looks at me again, I can’t believe how lucky I am. 

“I’m happy now,” he says again, and I can’t help giving him a sad look.

“Even with all that’s happening? Even with what I did?” he shrugs again.

“I’m happy to be with you,” he answers simply, and I feel my eyes welling up. My emotions are all over the place lately. 

I get up slowly, ignoring the pain that floods me when I move, and go sit beside him on his bed, our shoulders pressed together. “I’m happy to be with you too,” I say back, because it couldn’t be more true. He puts his arm around my back and pulls me closer, kissing me for a moment. When we pull away, I brush my fingers lightly on his face, touching the dark shadows under his eyes. 

"You need some rest," I whisper. He takes my hand in his and turns his head to kiss my palm.

"We could lie down for a bit," he offers.

"Want me to go to my own bed?" I ask, mostly joking. 

"Oh, shut up," he replies rolling his eyes. He lies down on his back, and I rest my head on his chest. He still has his arm around me, and his hand is gently pressed to my back, between my shoulder blades. He sighs deeply, and I melt into him, allowing myself to let go of everything. 

\---

I try to be the one who goes out of the cabin to get food and basic needs stuff, primarily because Steve is the famous one. There's not much room for passengers in cargo ships, but there _is_ a large crew, so it's my little way of trying to keep him safe. 

Either way, when I go out to get lunch on the first day, I can hear conversations in Portuguese, Spanish and French, so I figure there's not a lot of Americans on board. That's good news, they're the most likely to recognize us. 

When I get back to the room with some food on the second day, Steve's sitting on the bed with his brow furrowed and his small newspaper in his hands. At least that's what he calls it. It's an electronic device Tony made for him before I arrived, that shows him the news simply and tidily. 

He looks at me when I leave the food on the dresser. 

"I don't get it," he starts, and it's my time to frown. "It should be all over the news by now. We killed a guy. A _cop._ So where the hell is it?" 

_"I_ killed a guy", I correct him as I sit down next to him, but he dismisses my complaint with a sad look.

"We're in this together, Buck," he adds, giving my knee a light couple of pats. "But that's not the point. Why isn't it on the news?" 

"You think someone is covering it up?" I ask, wondering if he checked thoroughly enough. 

_"Maybe._ But the death of a cop is pretty hard to cover up. And besides, what would they gain from covering it up? It's the best way to turn the public against us." He makes a pause, still looking at his device. 

"Are you _sure_ he was dead?" I frown when I remember the lifeless vacant stare in his eyes.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure," I answer. My tone is low, quivering. 

And then he sounds like he's thinking out loud. "Maybe it wasn't a cop," he whispers, and I make a face. 

"He had a uniform and a patrol car. I'm not crazy." He shakes his head.

"I mean we've seen people pretending to be cops before. It wouldn't be the first time."

"You think it was HYDRA?" I ask quietly.

"It'd make sense." I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. If it had been them, they would've used the words. 

"No, man, it can't be," he looks at me like he's waiting for an explanation, and I sigh. "There's these words they can use to get me to obey." 

"Your trigger words, yes. I… read about them." I frown, but don't say anything about it. There's a lot of information on the database they made public while taking down HYDRA.

"Well, they would've used them." I finish, and his brow furrows even further. 

"After you… confronted those guys, you said you could feel yourself changing into the asset, didn't you?" I nod, but I already know where he's going with this. "Is it possible that they were trying to get you back?" 

I shake my head, because I realize what he's doing. He's trying to pin it on someone else. He just wants to pretend like it wasn't my fault. 

"I couldn't hear anything," I say quietly. It's so hard to find the right way to burst his bubble. "Stevie, I'm the first one who would like to believe that they were HYDRA, but I don't think they were… they didn't do anything to me." 

"They shot you. And they shot _me._ " I remember the feeling of the bullet ricocheting off my hand, the way it was meant for his head, and a shiver runs down my spine. Maybe he's not that far off. 

Would the government really try to kill Captain America? Not to injure or capture him, but to _kill_ him? The thought bounces inside my head, resurfacing every once in a while, making me wonder if he could be right. 

The rest of the trip is quiet, pleasant even. It's nice to be alone with him again. Not that we weren't before, but lately there was this lingering sensation in the back of my head, like someone was watching us, listening to us. Now we can lock the door, block it shut with the dresser -which is pretty heavy-, and be _really_ alone. I find time to hug him, and to talk. We can make love, and kiss without any time restraint. We can be ourselves, a vague reminiscent of the old times. All and all, he helps me heal. Physically and emotionally. 

Every day that we don't find news about the cop I killed, is a small step towards accepting his theory. Or at least a step forward to _allowing myself to consider it._ Because I know that I have to be careful with this. I am _completely_ biased in this matter, I _want_ his theory to be true with everything I have. So I can't really trust myself to judge it properly. 

But even after everything I've done, and everything that's happened, he seems comfortable with me, content even, and maybe that's enough for now. 


	17. Chapter 17

We agree on letting it play out for a little while. After disembarking, we find a place to lay low and weigh our options: a small studio apartment on a busy street in Portugal. We talk about what we're going to do and outline some vague plans. Some in case it turns out to be HYDRA, and some in case it isn't. 

If it _is_ HYDRA -or at least some of their goons infiltrated in the government-, then it'll be a matter of time before they find us again. After all, it _is_ a world wide organization. 

If they do find us, it'll mean they're still going strong beneath the surface. It'll mean we need to do something about it. 

We try to go out as little as possible, but it doesn't take long before everything goes to shit again. I have no idea if it's just me being paranoid, but I feel like someone recognizes me on the street, and I'm on fucking edge all over again. 

We decide that we need to keep moving, just in case, and bike our way to Spain. We rent a medium size flat, set a map in the spare room -since we only use one to sleep-, and try to think of alternatives and courses of action.

The vague outlines quickly become elaborate plans, brought to us by the tenacity of Steve's brain. He's always been thoroughly strategic. Even before the army he could plan stuff better than anyone else. I got a brain suited for escape plans, because they've trained me for it to make sure no one could capture me… but I'm not really good at planning. All my life I've followed everybody else's orders. Not much to plan when you're supposed to be a mindless soldier. 

At least now I know I'm following the right orders, the ones that come from the people with the right intentions. Entirely in whispers and exchanged looks, we agree that we need some intel from high places.

We use the internet to read the HYDRA files that Nat made public, and choose a couple places that seem suitable. 

We take turns and split our time between the American embassy and one of Spain's most important governmental agencies. Most of the corrupt agents have been identified and arrested, but it can't be all of them, so we do some research and camp outside to come up with ways of getting the information we need. 

We tap both places' phones, and get bugs in the takeout boxes when they order food for a meeting, but none of it makes a difference. If there _are_ any HYDRA agents still on the payroll, they're not letting themselves slip. 

\---

"Can I tell you something?" He says quietly one night. We're lying in bed, pretending to watch TV. Truth is that we're both unable to relax. We both know it, and yet we pretend, for the other one's sake. I turn my face to him, but he keeps his eyes on the screen. "Part of me thinks that we're just being paranoid," he whispers. 

I open my mouth to reply, but the answer doesn't come. I take his hand and give it what I think is a reassuring squeeze. 

"Want us to stop?" I ask when he finally looks at me.

"Don't you?" He retorts, and I sigh while running my hands through my hair. Truth is that I _do_ want to stop, but at the same time I'm _terrified_ of getting caught off guard again. Logically, HYDRA is the kind of threat that shouldn't be left alone, like an infection that will inevitably spread while no one's looking. 

And if _it is_ them, then I _want_ to take them down. I want to see them burn to the ground. I want every last one of them gone or captured. And I want to make sure that they know that it was me who ran them to the ground. 

I do my best to try and explain all that to him, even if my first instinct is to hide it. I always think like something I say or do is going to be the last straw, like the time's gonna come when something is finally going to be too much for him… but that time never comes. 

"That's… understandable," he says instead. By this time, he's already turned off the TV, and we're just lying in the dark, talking like we used to do when we were kids. It's so much easier for me to talk about stuff like these when I feel like I'm not being watched, and I suspect he knows that all too well. I leave out a long deep breath, because even the thought of him _trying_ to understand takes a weight off my shoulders. 

"Are you afraid of them?" He asks quietly. I take a moment, thinking about it while I hear the buzzing of the city at night outside.

"Yeah…" I say, and it's nothing but the truth. He takes my hand to intertwine our fingers. "I'm afraid of what they can turn me into," I add, feeling like I have to explain myself somehow. "I don't want to go back to that. I don't want them to make me forget again. I don't want to lose you again. I don't want them to force me to hurt you." I'm keeping my voice quiet, so that it won't crack, but it does anyway. It stutters and shivers, completely out of my control. The thought alone of something like that happening completely horrifies me. How could it not? Being turned against the people you love, hurting them or killing them… 

"They're not gonna get to you," he says, taking my hand to his lips and kissing it softly. "I'm not gonna let them." I try to give him a smile, but I know my expression is somber. He can't possibly know that. Protecting me from turning into the winter soldier is not his job, and it's certainly not a promise he can make. But I choose not to say it. I choose to cuddle in the little bubble of false security he's trying to give me, allowing myself to take refuge in it, at least for a few minutes. 

"We should call the Avengers," I say after a moment, doing my best to change the course of the conversation. I don't want to burst the bubble, tell him that if they _do_ get to me, he'll probably be the one who'll have to stop me. I don't want to tell him that I could be turned against him in seconds, hurt him, _kill him_ without so much as blinking an eye. Maybe he already knows.

"Why would we?" he asks, and I shrug. _'I want you to have backup in case I try to murder you again'_ sounds a bit too blunt.

"If it is what we think it is, then we're gonna need all the help we can get."

There's no denying what I just said, but he's shaking his head before I finished the sentence. "We don't know for sure if it's them. We're not even sure if there's actually someone chasing us."

"I know, but-"

"If we _do_ call them and it turns out to be the government, then they'd be considered criminals. I can't ask that of them."

"They'd be the first to know if it _is_ the government or not," I argue, and he makes a face.

"Out of all of them, the one with the real resources to find out for sure about something like that would be Tony." _Fuck._ "And things aren't top shape right now, I don't want to have to ask him for help. Not when it could mean getting him into trouble," he makes a pause, and I stare at the ceiling for a few seconds of silence. "I think there's-" 

"No, no. I get it," I cut him off before he adds anything else about it. He doesn't need to spell it out. I fucking killed Tony's parents, for crying out loud, he doesn't need an excuse for not wanting to ask him to stick his neck out for us. 

I drop the subject immediately, and I'm feeling like I'm sinking in the mattress from the renewed weight of my past. No matter how much I try, I can't escape it. 

After a minute of silence, Steve rolls over to my side of the bed, pressing himself to me, and runs a hand through my hair. "Don't do that," he whispers quietly close to my lips, and I play dumb.

"Do what?" 

"You're blaming yourself again. Don't." I look away, so he adds: "That's an order." He's joking, trying to defuse the tension, and I love him even more for it. Besides, I really want the tension to go away, so I raise my eyebrows in fake disbelief, trying not to smile back. His hand is traveling down my neck, and his eyes never leave mine.

"And if I disobey?" I ask. 

His smile gets wider, mischievous. "Then I'll have to give you something else to think about," he leans closer as he speaks, till his lips are moving right up against my smile. I feel the smile in his lips too before he kisses me. 

The kiss is slow and thorough, it makes me feel like everything else matters a bit less. And it does, everything else really does pale in comparison to having some alone time with him. I don't seem to be able to get enough. 

\---

The information on the files and the people we follow for a couple of weeks end up leading us to a disclosed HYDRA base in Finland. According to their data it was supposed to be a huge storage complex, and the information we found says it closed a long time ago, but we can see that's not the case as soon as we get a bit close to it. 

It looks kinda like a private group of factories, with nine buildings and a lot of ground between them. 

They're not even being subtle about it, they have people coming in and out of the place pretty much 24/7 and the security is way too strict and specialized for it to be anything else. 

I can recognize the patterns in behavior from the time I was part of it. Now that some time has passed, my brain has recovered enough for me to remember everything. And I can remember every fucking detail of every single minute I spent with them, so I'll be damned if I don't put it to a good use.

"Those are only the guards we can see. There'll be at least a dozen more hidden in the near proximity, and snipers ready on the roofs." We're lying on the cold grass, far enough from the place for them to be unaware of us. We're hidden by a couple bushes, and it's difficult to see correctly, but I wouldn't want to push our luck. Better safe than sorry. 

We rent a place far enough that they wouldn't have anything to do with it, and plan our approach. 

“I still think we should call the rest of your team,” I mumble as we hover over the big map we keep in the dimly lit living room. I don’t like this whole thing. “One thing was when we were sure it was the government, but I don’t think it is anymore, man.” 

“We've talked about this. I don’t even know if they’d listen to us, if they’d help.”

“Nat would. Sam too. They’re your friends, they love you,” I argue. 

“That’s exactly the problem. We can’t drag two normal humans into this fight, Buck.” Part of me thinks that he’s right, and the rest is just screaming that he’s just being too nice for his own good. He does that a lot. “Buck, if this really is HYDRA, then it’s _our_ fight,” I shake my head. 

“It’s their fight too, Steve. HYDRA wronged all of them. You keep saying I’m not responsible for killing Stark’s parents. If that’s true, then who is? You think he won’t want to fight them? If it really is HYDRA, you think any of them would back out?” 

"But if it's not, then we'd be dooming them."

"I recognize their patterns, the way they go about a facility, I _know_ it's them." 

"You _know_?" he asks, raising his brow. "Without the slightest doubt?" I hold his gaze for a moment, but I can't be one hundred percent sure, and he knows it. The problem is that I want it to be them, I want to be able to take them down, and because of that, I can't trust my own judgment on this one. He softens his tone when I lower my eyes. "Babe, if we're wrong and they help us to take down a government facility, they'd be considered criminals, terrorists even. The whole world would be against them." 

I sigh and stay silent for a moment. "Fine." I leave out between clenched teeth, "First we verify that it is HYDRA, _and then_ we call for backup." 

"Agreed." He says, but it's not enough.

"I'm serious, man, the second we're sure," he nods and replies:

"Not a problem." I have a problem with it, but I bite my tongue, because I trust his judgment. After a few seconds I turn my attention back to the map that rests on the table. 

"If it's HYDRA, then it's more likely that their base will be in this group of buildings right here," I point at an area in the map as I talk. "We could infiltrate through here, it seems to be the weakest point." He nods and looks at the map closely.

"There's tunnels," he provides, so I look closer at the area he's pointing at. The lines are thin and pail, but they're there. It's a good idea.

"They wouldn't see us coming," I concede. "You think we could pull it off?" 

He leans over the map again, resting his elbows on the table. "Yeah, I really think we can." 

We pick the most concealed entrance to the tunnels that we can find. It's a big drain covered by nearby bushes and closed by thick metal bars. It's five miles away, so we know it's far enough that no one would even think about guarding it, and there's no cameras in sight. We both take one of the bars and pull in opposite directions, bending them to force a gap in the middle, wide enough for us to get in. We straighten them back after going through, in an effort to be as inconspicuous as we can. 

Short after the light that drips inside from the entrance ends, the tunnels turn pitch black. My eyes take a second to adjust, but I'll manage. Darkness hasn't been a problem since the serum. By the way he's moving I can tell it isn't a problem for him either. "You ok?" I ask anyway, and he makes an affirmative sound. 

He still has his shield on his back, so I can tell he's not really distressed about the lack of light or the plan we've come up with. Unlike him, I'm holding my gun up, ready to fire at the slightest of provocations, and I briefly wonder what that says about me. Am I paranoid or cautious? Delusional or aware? 

About five minutes in, a bright yellow ladder leads us a couple levels down, and we fall in some sort of sewer system, ankle deep in cold dirty water. The sound of running water is coming from all around us now, but there's a ledge on the side of the tunnel where we can move without having to get so wet. 

It'll be awhile before we're even near the base, and my brain keeps going through the plan we've traced: if we follow a carefully laid path, choosing every single turn correctly, the tunnels will lead right to the far end of the parking lot inside the build complex, directly behind one of the main facilities. 

We'll install a couple cameras, plant a couple of bugs, and then we'll head right back out. In and out. All we need is to make sure it's them, or to confirm it's not. Either way, there's not much we can do. Not now. Not alone. 

I follow Steve mindlessly through the tunnels, trusting him to take the right turns and my mind trails off on the possibilities as we walk. It'd be nice news to be wrong about this whole thing. It'd be nice to find a harmless factory with normal people in it, and not one single shady thing to it. 

This is our best lead, our best bet, so if it's not them, then it'd be safe to say that HYDRA really _is_ finished. We could move on. Get another goal, be somebody else, live another life. 

"What would you like to do?" I ask, driven by the slow, repetitive cadence of sounds around us. He looks at me, so I try to explain myself. "If no one was after us, if we weren't criminals, if the world would just… leave us alone." 

He gives it a little thought, and then smiles, shrugging a bit. "Lots of things," he says briefly looking at me. We find a hip-high step and climb it in silence. We should be pretty close by now. "I think I'd go back to New York," he adds a moment later.

"Me too. We could get a pizza," I reply smiling back at him. 

I think we'll just leave it at that, but after a few minutes in silence, I get the feeling that his mind got stuck on the question. 

"I'd like to have a home with you again," he says quietly, barely above the constant whisper of the water. I look at him. "Go to baseball games. We could get normal jobs, have a white picket fence." A knot gets in my throat, he's got the habit of saying stuff like that like it's not a big deal. 

"I'd like that," I reply just as quietly, because even though I might not be the most normal guy in the planet, that sounds like a fucking dream. A world where I get to wake up with him, and love him, and go home to him every day. 

"Maybe get a dog," he adds nervously and I leave out a laugh. He's wanted a dog ever since we were kids. He absolutely _loved_ his neighbor's retriever, and it loved him too. 

"I love dogs," I say smiling. "Remember Max?"

"Ugh, what a great dog," the smile on his lips is nostalgic, but that doesn't mean it's not sincere. "Remember when he stole the meat from the grill?" He asks, still with a fond expression. 

"I remember you taking the blame for it," I retort, kinda laughing.

"They were gonna be mad at him!" 

"They were mad at _you!_ We had to mow their lawn for two months because of that!" He laughs openly now, maybe at the memory, maybe at my playful indignation.

"It was worth it. And technically, _I_ was the one who was obligated to mow the lawn, you were just there because you liked me," I look at him sideways. 

"You're a punk," I leave out, eyes narrowing, and he laughs harder. _God,_ I love him _so much._

"Maybe we should get a couple of kids too, so they'll take the blame for the dog," he suddenly says and I stop walking, completely frozen in place.

My chest tightens a whole bunch, and it gets harder to breathe. "I don't know if I could do that," I answer much more grimly, forcing myself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other, it's not that hard. 

"Of course we could, it's OK for same sex couples to adopt now," he answers almost just as lightly as before. I don't want to say it. I don't want to burst his bubble, but I feel like I have to. 

"No, I mean me. I don't know if I could be a father, Steve." My tone is serious, and I can tell he picks up on the change because he looks at me for a few seconds, but when he speaks again his tone is still light enough that it doesn't make me fear for our relationship. 

He shrugs. "Then we won't be. We don't _have_ to, it's just an idea." I unsuccessfully try to swallow the lump in my throat. He turns around to look at me and I realize that I've stopped walking again. He gives me a smile, and I look at him for a moment, trying to figure out if it's sincere. It is. I try to return it, but I'm pretty sure I only achieve a pathetic excuse for one. 

He nods once, asking if everything's OK, and I nod too in response. "Come on, let's keep going," he says, and turns to walk again. "And for the record, I think you'd be a terrific dad," he adds while looking away, maybe giving me a moment to process the words on my own. Of course he thinks that. He could see the bright side in a fucking apocalypse. 

Part of me wants to tell him that I'm not cut out for that kinda thing anymore, before he can get his hopes up, before he can really start to want it… and part of me wants me to keep my mouth shut about the entire thing, leave the fantasy alone just for a little while longer. I decide based on the fact that this is _not_ the best place to be having this conversation. 

But I can't stop thinking about it, and deep down I know Steve should be a dad someday. He should have children running up to him to hug him tight when they get out of school, he should have Christmas mornings with small toddlers jumping up and down on his bed. 

He deserves to have- 

A small noise completely shatters my train of thought and I raise my face to him to meet his panicked eyes. We both know that sound way more than we'd like to. My heart climbs up my throat and I feel the blood rushing to my legs out of pure terror. _It's a trap._

In less than a second, he's lowering his shield to the mine that was planted on our path. The damn thing explodes just before he can ground his feet properly, so the force of it sends him flying through the air. 

I try to run to him, so it catches me off guard too, and I'm suddenly on the floor, the wind knocked out of me. My ears are ringing, but I know I have to move. 

"Steve!" I yell, and get up as fast as I can to run to him. It’s probably the longest second of my life, but I try to concentrate on his chest. He's breathing. _He's alive._

I take his hand and touch his face. "You alright?" He nods and I'm able to breathe again. I help him up and the ringing subsides enough for me to hear the next threat, a series of beeps that makes my skin crawl. I look around for it but what I find is even worse. _We're screwed._ I can see the wiring that the explosion uncovered. Plastic explosive braided into the ceiling and the walls. 

Our eyes meet again and we both know instantly that we have to run. I grab his hand and yank him back the way we came, away from the first explosion and toward the only entrance I can still be sure exists. 

As we run, the beeping stops and it's immediately replaced by what sounds like rapid fire. _'The bombs',_ I figure. They sound high up in the ceiling, following our progress closely. It feels like being in a battlefield all over again. Like the war never stopped and has now found us again. 

The entire structure shakes and crumbles, and Steve yells at me over the sound, still running like hell. "The tunnel's caving in!" he says, and it’s like a two second warning. The first piece of ceiling falls right behind us, almost crashing into our heels. Thank god we're fast, but that's just the beginning. 

The pieces keep crumbling down on our sides and right behind us while we run like hell. I grab his hand to pull him to me again when I see a large piece will fall right in his path, and we run close to each other for a few seconds. We’re almost at the place where we climbed the step. It’s too far. _We’re too far in_. 

We barely stop in time when an enormous rock falls right in front of us, the ruble reaching my toes. He's behind me pressing me to him with his right arm around my stomach, and I try to cover him from the dust and the shards as best as I can. 

I intend to stop until the ground stops shaking, but Steve murmurs something under his breath and pushes me away before I can even know what's going on. 

I land several feet away, and look at him just in time to see an even bigger rock falling right onto him. _"Steve!"_ I yell, feeling the panic climbing rapidly up my throat. I go to him, covering my face with my arm briefly to avoid the new shards and scream his name again. The rock barely broke. 

"I'm here!" He says. My heart is trying to jump right out of me. When the dust dissipates a bit, I can see the way he's trapped. His shield is on his back again, protecting him from the rock that is now on top of him, and he's supporting the weight with his arms, kinda like holding himself up mid push-up.

"Don't worry," I say more to myself than to him. "Don't worry, Stevie, I'll get you out." The tunnel shakes again and I try to work faster moving the smaller rocks so I can get to the big one. 

"Just go, I'll be fine!" He yells, but I ignore him. "I'll be right behind you!" he adds.

“Just shut up!” I reply. I'm working as fast as I can, but the ground shakes again.

"Buck! Watch out!" 

This time I look up, just in time to get myself out of the way of another cave in.

I fall backwards and protect my head with my arm, avoiding the rocks by trying to get as small as I possibly can. I feel a couple hitting my arm and my side, but it's nothing I can't shake off. When everything stops shaking, I open my eyes to look at the fallout.

The entire section of the tunnel caved in, a new solid wall where the tunnel used to be. 

"No,” it’s all my brain can think of. “No, no, no, no," the words escape as a whisper, my throat raspy and closed with both fear and dust. "Steve!" I yell at the top of my lungs. I start moving rocks away one by one as fast as I can, but the terror is clinging to my hands and I can’t move properly. “Steve! Talk to me, please!” 

I move a rock and find a big hole. I squint my eyes and see his hand on the far end. “Stevie!” I yell, and try desperately to climb into the hole, but it’s too small for me to do so. “Steve, please. Fuck!” 

I start moving the rocks until I clear a sort of small tunnel right to him. It’s not wide enough for him to climb out, but it will be, I’ll make it happen. Cross my heart, I’ll make it happen. 

“Steve, please talk to me!” I keep moving rocks, trying to get to him when I hear him coughing. I’ve cleared enough now that I can see his face. _His face._ I try not to panic and keep throwing rocks back, using all my strength. I’m widening the opening in front of his body, turning it into a small tunnel, and his right hand seems to be the only part of him that he can move.

The rocks from the top of the wall fall to me, but I don’t care. He can see me now. He knows I’m gonna get him out. He knows I’ll do it. 

“Buck,” he says, and I crumble at his tone.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out, don’t you worry, Stevie, I’m here.” 

“Buck, stop,” I go faster, trying to win the race to the next cave in. Trying to get him out before he-

“Just shut up!” I yell, and I don’t know if I’m saying it to him or to my own thoughts. I can’t think about it. 

“Buck, the tunnel will give in,” he says, completely calm. I couldn’t care less. If it means there’s even a chance to save him, I’ll take it. The risk is well worth it. “Buck. Buck! Listen to me. Look at me!” he asks, and I breathe heavily, stopping for a second, but I can’t look at him. _I can’t look at him._ He speaks anyway. “You need to get out of here, OK? You need to leave, _now,”_ I shake my head and dismiss what he’s saying with a gesture of my hand.

“Stop talking like that, I’m not leaving here without you!” I can hear the knot in his throat, but I keep trying to clear the rocks out.

“I knew you’d say that,” he says more quietly. His voice reaches me through the sound of the rocks moving and cracking. A second passes in silence, save from the rocks I’m moving and my heavy breathing. 

“Buck, calm down, alright? We’ll get through this,” he says. I can hear the lie in his voice and I suppress a sob. This can’t be happening. I feel the tears streaming down my face and the panic closing up my throat, the need to scream out of pure despair. “Buck, listen to me, _please._ ” This time is not an order from Captain America, not a request from a soldier, it’s a plea from Stevie. _My Stevie_ ... and I can’t ignore it. I stop and look at him again, and he smiles. _He smiles._

All my courage fades, washed away like it never existed. I'm not ready for this. I could never be ready for seeing him like this. He's broken and hurting. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says more calmly. He stretches out his arm through the hole and I climb as far as I can into it to reach him with my flesh hand and take his, without any hesitation. This can’t be happening. It can’t. Please, God, don’t let this happen. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, trying to wake up. This has got to be a nightmare. When I open them, we’re still here. I clear my throat to sound as sane as I can. 

“I’ll find a way, don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there,” I say. If I don’t, then this will be the end for both of us. He gives me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen in his face.

“I need you to know that I love you,” he whispers, and my chest tightens. A fist is crushing my heart inside of it. 

“I love you too, Stevie, but don’t say it like that, we’ve been through worse, you know that,” there’s still hope in my tone. Not in his. There’s no more hope in his voice and I’m dying out with it.

“Yeah, I do,” the first tear escapes his eye and it kills me that I can’t wipe it away, but he closes his eyes for a second and clears his throat. "It's been a nice ride,” he says, “and I’m so glad you were with me till the end of the line, pal... I know you'll find your way back."

I frown, because he can’t be talking like that. I’ve seen him fight and win so many losing battles, he can’t give up now. I can't watch him give up. I’m about to reply, but his grip on my hand turns tighter. 

_“Longing,"_ he says in clear perfect russian, and I can feel my eyes going wide.

“NO.” I leave out, and try to get away, but his grip is now nothing short of deadly.

 _"Rusted, furnace.”_ His voice grows stronger, but I hear the crack behind his security. I can feel my control starting to slip away.

“Please, stop it,” I leave out quietly. 

_"Daybreak, seventeen."_ I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to get me out of here, forcing me to leave him behind. I can’t do that. _No, please, God, help me._

“Steve, _please_ don't do this. We'll find another way.”

 _"Benign. Nine.”_

“No. Just let me go, we’ll figure something out. Don’t do this to me, man, please, I can’t take it. I don't want to lose you.” I can still feel the tears streaming down my face. This is not right. I’m _begging_ him, trying so hard to get away from his grip. I can hear him crying too. _"_

 _"Homecoming."_ I fight against it, try not to hear him, but his voice is impossible to ignore, it always has been. _"One."_ I stop struggling and look at him, because I’m nearly gone, and I need him to see that this is not right. I don’t want this to be the last time I see him.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” I say one more time, but he looks at me straight in the eye, swallows hard and then says it. _“Freight car.”_

His voice echoes in my head and I know we’re both as good as gone. 

\---

_“Ready to comply.”_

The russian words spoken in that deep raspy voice echo in the tunnel. Steve can see the marks that the tears left in the dirt of Bucky’s face, but there’s no other indication that he’s suffering. No other indication that he’s feeling anything at all. He's already gone. He slowly lets go of his hand and swallows again, feeling like his throat is coated in sand. Given the circumstances, it probably is.

“Leave the tunnels, get to the surface, go someplace safe. Report to the avengers,” he says in a choked up voice. The winter soldier nods, waits for a bit longer and then gets on his way, not looking back.


	18. Chapter 18

I remember the way out. It's laid out in my head like I've seen a blueprint of the structure. I need to go to the surface, but the place is crashing down. I can see the light at the end of the path, it's far away, but now I know where the surface is. I check my weapons as I walk, noting I have three knives scattered in my clothes and an automatic hanging on my shoulder. Enough to cope for now. Enough to take down whatever comes in my way. 

I walk in silence, trying to stay safe. I need to go to a safehouse of some sort, but I don’t have any information about one. Did I forget? The light gets brighter after climbing up a ladder and I tear the bars from the entrance right off. There’s no one outside waiting for me. No one to get in my way. 

I’m in an open field. I think I can see a highway far in the distance, but I can’t be sure, and even if I was, I couldn't go to it. It wouldn't be safe. I try to pry my mind for the location of the safehouse, but it’s simply not there, maybe I suffered some sort of damage. 

I remember a small apartment in an alley, and I find it mostly out of pure luck, but when I get there and carefully break in, something feels... off. There’s something’s wrong with it. Maybe it’s been compromised. Maybe I’m mistaken. All I know is that I don’t feel like I’m safe here. I’m not safe.

I shake my head and think about other locations, other stopping points. There's some vague memories of a place with a big map on a table and dim yellow lights. Maybe it was an operation's base. Maybe it's where I've been kept. But I can't recall where it is. I'm lost. 

I focus on my other orders, to try and make sense of it all. “Report to the Avengers,” I say out loud, and a rush of memories flow through me. I know who they are. Romanoff, Wilson, Barton, Stark, Banner, Thor. I can get to them. I remember where they are. 

Maybe that’s my safeplace. Maybe they’ll know where the safeplace is. 

\---

I get into the cargo container before they load it to the ship. It's not empty, but there's enough space for me to be able to fit in. No one sees me and part of me is pleased that I don’t have to kill anyone to get my way. It’d be inconvenient, impractical, counterproductive. _‘It’d be wrong_ ’, a part of me thinks, and I shake it away. If it aids my mission then it’s not _wrong_ , it’s just collateral damage. 

Time passes slowly while we’re traveling. I stay alert most of the time, but I do fall asleep occasionally. At least I have time to recover from the wounds I got in my last mission. I know we’re headed to where I need to go, and there's nothing I can do to speed up the process. 

About four days into the trip I realize that I am low on energy, but my pockets are empty. They didn't give me any pills or needles, so I can't do anything about it. On the week mark, I go out of the cargo container to look for food. I don't know why I hadn't thought about that before, but I think I can remember myself eating. I know I need to, or I won't be able to follow my orders. 

I sneak into a kitchen and eat the first thing I can find, not really tasting it or caring about what it is. 

Upon arrival, I get out inconspicuously and disembark without anyone noticing. I thought I'd feel safer after getting off the ship, but now that I'm here, I realize that I really don't. There's something in the back of my mind that makes me think I'm constantly in danger. Everybody seems to be after me. Everyone's out to get me. 

I don't remember anyone giving me intel, but somehow I know where the Avengers' tower is located. It's relatively easy to get there without being spotted or getting caught. 

I scout around the area. Front door and four other exits on the ground floor. Fortified glass. No windows to climb in. Building too high to go in through the roof. 

I look for threats before getting in. It's easy to bypass security. Just a lady on a desk and a couple guards here and there. They got pre-established patterns, so they don't see me when I enter the building, but there's a metal detector on my way, so I go through a door marked with 'service stairs'. 

I listen carefully on each level, trying to figure out which one's the right one. First three seem to be offices. Fourth one sounds and smells like a hospital. When I'm going up to the fifth, I meet someone going down and I freeze. It's a security guy and there's a gun hanging on his hip. 

There's a brief moment when we both weigh our options, and then he goes for the radio he has on the other side of his hip. I move quickly before he can ask for backup and hit him in the jaw with my right hand. He falls backwards losing his footing and I can tell he's out even before he hits the ground. 

When I walk by, I decide to crouch and check on him. He's got a pulse and it doesn't even seem to have broken anything. He'll be fine.

I stand up quickly and go on my way when I come to my senses. Why does his life even matter? It doesn't. I should have killed him. I feel the hairs in my neck rising as I walk, trying to figure out why I felt the need to check on him. I can't come up with a good reason as to why I decided not to kill him. 

I try to forget about it and focus on the task at hand, listening to figure out what's on each level. There's four people in one of the upper ones. This could be it. I prepare my gun, see if it's loaded and go in. 

A wall is protecting me from sight, but I know it's them, so I stop counting their guns and figuring out if there are any threats. This is it. I made it. I get out in the open giving _one_ wide look to the room, and stand still until someone gives me further instructions. There's three people in this room, and one of them points a gun at me when I come into view. 

I hear the commotion but my eye line is now straight ahead. My mission is completed, but I can’t stand down until they allow it. 

“Barnes?” the woman asks and I know she’s one of the ones I need to report to. Romanoff. She just has to address me directly.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” someone else asks, and then whispers: “He looks like shit.” That doesn’t concern me.

Someone else comes in the room, but I don’t look to see who it is. None of it is my business. “What is he doing here?” The new man asks. They whisper for a moment, but don’t give me any orders. “No, that’s not him, that’s The Winter Soldier.”

“Я готов отвечать,” I say when I hear them addressing me. My mission is completed and I need new orders. A moment passes in silence.

“What did he say?” a man asks, and the woman speaks in a low voice

“He said ‘ready to comply’.” 

“So he’s saying that to _us_?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Mission report,” says someone else, and I look at him. Anthony Stark. An Avenger. I report to him.

“миссия успешно выпо-” 

“In English, soldier,” he corrects me. I wait for the blow, but it never comes.

“Mission completed successfully.” 

“What mission? What are you talking about?” I repeat my instructions, word for word.

“Leave the tunnels, get to the surface, go someplace safe. Report to the avengers.”

“Who told you to do that?”

“Steven Rogers.” I say mechanically, and the name echoes in my mind. It causes an itch.

“Tell us the whole story.” The voice feels more familiar than before, and I turn to look at Natasha Romanoff as I start talking.

“We were following a lead on a HYDRA base. The tunnels were the best choice to approach the situation. They were supposed to be unaware of our whereabouts, but they set a trap,” I frown, because I remember the rumbling and it puts a lump in my throat. The distant sounds of the explosions bring an odd ringing to my ears. “The tunnels collapsed. Steven Rogers got trapped under the rubble. He gave me the mission,” the name hurts, it burns. I don’t like the feeling it gives me, there’s something wrong with it, something _terribly_ wrong… and I go quiet, my mind circling around it.

“Jarvis, prepare the jet. I’m gonna need you to give me the exact coordinates, soldier,” Stark orders, and I say them outloud as he types the numbers on something he has on his wrist. Now that I've finished my mission, maybe I can rest. I’m so tired. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don't want to _be awake_ anymore. “Everybody, get ready, we’re leaving in five minutes. You’re coming with us Soldier, get in the jet.” I do as I'm told without a word, and stand on the back of the aircraft, waiting for more instructions. Resting will have to wait. 

They talk to each other quietly, but I listen in case they give me any other orders. "Trust me, I've read his file. Wiping his brain and using the trigger words are two different procedures. The memories are there, we just gotta-" he makes a noise, like he's opening a bottle of wine. 

"Sit here," the woman tells me, and I obey. "Can you look at me?" She speaks softly, it doesn't feel like an order, but it must be, so I do. "Listen to me, I need you to remember who you are, OK? Can you do that?" 

"Winter Soldier number one, ready to take orders." 

She shakes her head. "I meant your name, can you remember your name?" I search for it, but all I find is 'Winter Soldier' again.

"I have no information on that subject, disciplinary measures may be required." 

She doesn't punish me. Instead, she lays her hand on mine softly, sending a shiver up my arm, because I'm sure it'll start hurting anytime now… but it doesn't. Still, I know I can't trust it. 

"How about Steve? Do you remember Steve?" a flash from the man who gave me the orders comes to my mind.

"The man in the tunnel," I reply, and she nods. 

The aircraft is moving now, and three people are on board: Natasha Romanoff, Anthony Stark and Samuel Wilson.

"Can you tell me anything about him?" She asks, and I frown. I see his face covered in dust and blood. He's talking to me and I can hear the disguised pain in his voice. He's hurt. He's badly hurt and I can't get him out. The memory stings and I recoil from it. It makes me feel like there's something pressing down on my chest.

"Captain America,” I choke out, “Steven Grant Rogers, born in July 4th 1918 in-" 

"Can you tell me what he smells like?" I'm taken aback by the scent that breaks into my mind along with her words. Why is it so familiar? I swallow hard and shake my head when the smell of dust takes over. Dust, blood and stale water. Rumbling and whispered words. Why does it hurt so much? I can't. 

"Can you remember the color of his eyes?" She presses when I don’t give her an answer. I instinctively picture them, but as soon as I do I realize that the blue in them is not as important as the way he's looking at me. I shake my head again because I don't want to feel it, I don't want to. I _can't_ . I try to keep them away, but the memories come flooding back, and each and every one of them hurts more than the last. _Stevie._ He's trapped. He's hurt. Oh my god, he's… I feel like I'm about to throw up. 

My heart starts racing, pumping like it's trying to burst through my chest. My skin's crawling, suddenly too tight for me to be able to breathe. How the hell did he know the words? How could he use them like that? 

"Breathe, calm down. Are you with us?" Someone put my brain inside a fucking blender. I can't breathe and everything starts spinning. I get out of my seat because I feel like I really might get sick, but I only manage to take a couple of steps before I fall to my knees and hands on a corner. I can't help the rush of tears, but I do my best not to throw up. What the hell is going on? It literally feels like someone's trying to pull my heart out through my throat. 

"Is he back?" Someone asks, and Nat answers:

"Yes, he is." I can't stop the memories from drowning me, or the pain that comes with them. I _walked_ out. I turned around and didn't even look back. 

I grab a handle on the wall to keep myself as steady as I can, but the metal feels like it's made of rubber under my touch and I pull it right off, falling again. I can’t get up, I’ve never been this low. Not with the killing, not with the torture. I left him. 

I _left_ him. How could I do that to him? How could _he_ do that to _me_?

I can hear his words echoing in my head: _‘This is the end of the line for me, pal. I know you'll find your way back’._ Find my way back from the tunnels? From Finland? From losing him? From leaving him to die? I lie my face against the wall for a second, hoping to regain some of my balance. I don't. This can't be happening. He can't be dead. How is this even a possibility? 

The spinning refuses to stop, but I _have_ to speak, I _need_ to tell them what happened. "We need to hurry," I say out loud, willing myself to take a breath. I stand on numb legs, stumble my way back to fall into my seat and grab my head with both my hands to try and keep it from exploding. It should. It’d hurt less. 

"The idiot got me to leave him under a collapsed tunnel," I say. "It took me _way_ too long to find you. He told me to find a safe place, and I didn't know where that was. At first I wasn't sure if I was supposed to look for you," I feel the lump in my throat getting bigger. " _God_ , it took me _weeks,_ " I add, and hide my face so that they don't see me crying. As if they don't know already.

_W_ _hat the hell have I done?_

"We suspected HYDRA was after us." I keep going because I can't handle the silence right now. The silence rumbles and explodes. It cries and begs me to leave.

"I thought we took them down," Sam's standing beside us with his arms crossed tight and a worried expression in his face.

"Cut off one head and two more shall take its place," I say bitterly while trying not to vomit. "They were waiting for us, they blew up the tunnel to take us down but Steve pushed me out of the way." He couldn't break free.

 _I couldn't break him free._

"He got trapped under the rubble. I tried but I couldn't get him out. I made a hole by moving some rocks and found his hand. I could see his face and he was so messed up… he grabbed me and said those goddamn words." I can't help the new tears that come with the confession, or the guilt that flows through me like a river. "Nat, I left him there to die," I whisper, and she hugs me. 

I hang on to her looking for some comfort, for some sense of stability, but I can’t find her, I can only cry harder and feel worse, because I don’t deserve her trying to make me feel better. Still, I can’t let go, I can’t tell her I don’t need it. I can’t lie. 

I cry on her shoulder trying to ignore the others. My worst nightmare came true in the most terrible way imaginable. My worst fears have come to life to terrify me, to torture me in ways I never thought possible. I left the love of my life to die, scared and alone. I couldn’t save him. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

How the hell is this even real? Wasn’t it enough to lose him once? To lose myself? To be tortured and forced for years? _Haven't I suffered enough?_ No matter how much pain I go through, there's always a new low, something worse that the universe can throw at me. How is it even possible? 

_Why me?_

\-----

When we get to the location Stark lands the aircraft and we walk out to find an open field. There’s nothing but rubble and dirt. The entire place looks like ground zero of a fucking earthquake.

It figures. “Are you sure it was here?” Nat asks, and I feel like I’m half asleep. This has got to be a nightmare. What else could be this horrible? I shake my head and try to think clearly. He has to be down here somewhere. He has to be. He survived seventy fucking years the last time everyone thought he was dead. He can’t die now.

“We need to dig him out,” I say, my voice sounds like a maniac’s. Maybe it's because I feel like one. 

I hear a strange mechanical sound coming from my right and I turn to see Stark already in his suit. 

“Can you find him?” Nat asks. I almost smile when I realize Stark can find out where Steve is with that _thing_ he’s wearing... but doesn’t answer. He just goes silent. I look at him. 

"Run it again." I hear him say quietly. His voice is barely a whisper. “Again!” he says, and I can't take it anymore.

"Stark! Tell us where to dig." His helmet retracts over his head to show me his disjointed expression.

"I can't detect any heat signatures," he says, looking at me, and Nat covers her mouth.

"No." I leave out under my breath because this can't be happening. "Check again," I say, but he shakes his head.

"I already did." His voice cuts through me like a hot knife through butter.

"Can the test be wrong?" Sam asks, but Stark shakes his head again.

"If Cap's still down there, he's not alive anymore. Hasn't been for a while."

What the hell is going on? Why? I can't breathe, but I don't try to, I don't care anymore. 

Nat crouches besides me and I realize that I'm on my knees. I look at her and there's tears in her eyes. Her hand in my back feels out of place, my hand is freezing, my head is burning, my chest is being ripped apart from the inside. 

"I left him to die alone," I say, and now I can feel the snow beneath me, burning cold. I don’t want to believe it. "Maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe the coordinates are wrong,” I know I'm clinging to the last shred of hope. I look at Stark, but he shakes his head. “They have to be.” My voice is broken. Everything inside me is broken. “ _Please_ , they _have_ to be,” I say again, and he nods.

“I’ll check the perimeter, see if there’s someone in the area.” He takes off without another word. 

I pull myself up, because I can’t allow myself to fall right now. Because it can’t be true. Because I can’t accept it to be true. I won’t. 

I grab a rock and toss it far away. And then another. And another. I don’t know where the strength is coming from, but it’s there. I won’t believe it if I don’t see him, and he can’t be here. He won’t. I know he won’t. 


	19. Chapter 19

“I should have stayed,” I whisper. They let me come back with them in the jet, and now I’m in some sort of kitchen with Nat, Sam, and Clint. Stark left as soon as we arrived, but the rest stayed with me in spite of everything I’ve done. Either way, I feel like I shouldn’t be here. I should be looking for him. 

After hours and hours of trying, the truth finally hit me. I wouldn’t find him alive. Not under all of that rubble. Not after all that time. I moved the rocks one by one until my fingers bled and then walked back to the place where the entrance to the tunnel used to be, but it wasn’t even there anymore. Everything had gone to shit. I couldn’t even retrieve Steve’s body to give him a proper burial. I couldn’t even carry his casket. Not only to show him love, but to show him some respect. Because he was the love of my life, yes, but he was also a fucking hero. _He saved the world._ How cruel can destiny be? The boy who believed in people, who called everyone by their name and _cared_ about them, the guy who risked everything to protect the innocent, the man who saved countless lives… gone and abandoned in a cold dark nameless grave.

The thought of him being slowly crushed to death doesn't leave my mind -probably never will-. The image of his face covered in dust and blood is there every time I close my eyes, like it's seared into the inside of my eyelids. 

“Should've been me,” I say quietly, my words muffled by my own hands. I’m sitting at the table with my elbows resting on it and my face hidden in my hands. My heart is aching and the drink Nat gave me is doing nothing to avoid it. I wish it could at least numb the pain. 

“He wouldn’t have wanted that.” she whispers in response but I don’t look at her.

“What the hell did he know?”

“He loved you,” Clint offers, and I can’t believe that he’s even here. He doesn’t _know_ me. I’ve tried to kill his friends, I killed his friend’s parents. Why is he even talking to me?

“Stop beating yourself up,” Nat suggests, and Sam adds:

“It wasn’t your fault.” What the hell do _they_ know? How could they know? They don't know that he tried to quit. That he tried to get me to stop. They didn’t see his face covered in blood, or hear his voice faltering with pain. They can’t know. 

“How could he do that?” I ask, finally daring to look at them, to face their judgement. Clint lowers his eyes immediately, but Sam holds my gaze for a long moment before finally looking away. 

My question is deeper than what I could put into words. _'How could he force me to leave him behind? How could he force me to live without him?'_ I haven’t been able to stop crying since it hit me: I'll have to live in a world without Steve Rogers. I'll have to fall asleep without the sound of his heart, and wake up every morning without him being there with me. How fucked up is that? 

“He did what he thought was right. He always did that,” Nat says, and takes a swig of her drink. She seems broken too. They all do.

“It wasn't his choice, it was _mine._ He shouldn't have made it for me.” I look at them again, waiting for an answer that I know they don't have, but Sam's eyes are on me again. He's standing, leaning against the wall with his arms tightly crossed over his chest.

"I'm sorry, but I'm with him," he says, shrugging. I look at him, completely baffled, but he seems unfazed by my reaction. "Look, man, I watched my best friend die right in front of me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. If there had been _any_ way I could have saved him, I would have taken it. No question about it. And I wasn't in love with him." I hold his stare as I take another swig of my whiskey, willing it to calm me down, relishing in the small burn that goes down my throat. "It _was_ his choice,” he adds. 

“Stupid ass choice,” I say bitterly. 

"Maybe. But you can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same if it had been the other way around." I can't really argue with that, but the difference is that I would've been right. His life was so much more important, so much more valuable than mine. It's a simple clear fact, but I can't say it out loud, I don't want them to contradict me out of pity or politeness. Fuck that.

"Yeah, well. I'm not known for making the best decisions," I say instead. 

The night drags long and awful. Every minute of it is excruciating, and yet I can't force myself to leave. I don't want to be alone right now, I don't want to face the fact that I have nowhere else to go. That no place would feel right without him in it. 

We mostly sit around talking about him, remembering what he stood for and what he believed in. I tell them about the time he stole a puppy from a house because he saw the owner kicking it. We were twelve, and rode our bikes a couple neighborhoods away to find a proper family for it. 

I tell them about the time he infiltrated and took down a whole HYDRA base basically by himself to rescue me and my unit. The kindness he showed, the bravery it took. "You know, after we got back, some of the other soldiers -the petty ones- talked shit about it behind his back. Heard them say it had been easy for him because of the serum," I shake my head thinking about how good it felt to get in a few good punches before our superiors caught us. "But it was just bulshit. I would bet my right hand that he would've done it without the serum too," I shrug. "He was fucking crazy. And just… _good."_

I wipe my face again as the others take a drink toasting to what I just said. The room falls silent for a moment and there's a certain heavy atmosphere. Sad and nostalgic of course, but also reverential and appreciative of who he was. I think about that first mission, the one where he rescued me from HYDRA. I think about all he went through to take them down, -both back then and recently-, all the things he faced, all the stuff he risked, everything he lost. 

" _God_ , I can't believe HYDRA's still out there," I whisper through clenched teeth, rubbing my face. The rage burning in my chest is starting to get to an unbearable point. It's boiling, consuming everything else. Part of me knows that the thirst for revenge is just a way for me to escape the sorrow, mask it and bury it away… but I just don't care anymore. I _want_ to give in to it. 

My eyes are still down, but I can tell they're all frowning, considering what I just said. 

"We should take them down once and for all," Nat's voice sounds as determined as I feel, and I look at her with heavy eyes. I don’t want her to get involved in this. I can’t have that.

“Yeah, we should,” Clint adds, and I try to stay calm.

“I’m in,” Sam agrees. I close my eyes for a moment. If I couldn’t even get near a random base when I was with Steve, then chances are I won’t make it out alive this time. If I’m being honest with myself, I have to admit that that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk all of _them_. I don’t need to have their lives -or their deaths- hanging over my head too. 

I consider arguing, telling them that it’s suicide, but if they’re anything like Steve discribed them, then they won’t listen to me. So I stay quiet, listen to their plans and their ideas, hoping they’ll forget about it or let it go. 

“We can take down the Finland base and look for information there. If we take them by surprise, maybe we can get some really nice info from their database.” Nat gives me a controlled little grin as she talks. It's completely humorless, but it has a certain hint of pleasure to it. By now I know her well enough to know that not one of her expressions is incidental, _everything_ is always under control. So that’s her way of showing me she wants this. She _wants_ to be involved. And that's a good strategy, really smart. 

“Sounds good to me. Anything we need to know?” It takes a second for me to realize that Sam’s question is meant for me. I look at him, trying to put together a coherent thought. 

"They probably got traps set up in every possible way in," I say, hoping it'll make them aware of the risk.

“Yeah, what else is new?” Clint leaves out. Is he really in too? What the hell is wrong with these people?

“I don’t think you should come,” I say, shaking my head. Nat looks at me with wide eyes. Sam huffs a small bitter pathetic excuse for a laugh.

“Good thing you’re not the boss around here.”

“This is _my_ fight. Not yours,” I argue.

“You think Cap meant nothing to us?” Clint sounds straight up offended.

“They made it our fight the moment they killed him.” Sam’s words sound halfway between angry and sorrowful.

“You know it is. Like it or not, we’re in this together, big boy,” Nat sounds like she’s trying really hard to maintain her nonchalant tone. 

I shake my head again, but I know they’ve already made up their minds. “You need to know what you’re risking. Killing you is _not_ the worst thing they can do to you if they get their hands on you.” I back up my words by purposely placing my left arm on the table so they can all take a good look at it. Tree pairs of eyes fall onto it, glued to the cold hard metal. 

“It’s not even about this,” I add, because it’s really not. “This is just... a souvenir. If it had been just this...” I pause for a second, considering if I should keep talking, and then I decide that if they’re here, if they’re actually willing to try and take them down, then they deserve to hear it. I have to put all my cards on the table. I speak slowly, choosing my words carefully, willing them to understand. “They made me into a cold blooded killer. I killed the innocent and the good, I wiped out entire _families_ , the very same people I signed up to protect. They made me into a monster.” The word ‘monster’ rings in my ears for the silence that lingers after my voice. There’s really no better way of saying it. Monster sums me up pretty well. 

I look at them, waiting for their will to falter, but it doesn’t. 

“Ok, good to know. Anybody want to chicken out?” Clint asks as he stands up. Both Nat and Sam shake their heads. I look at them in disbelief.

“Great. Then we should all get some sleep. Big day tomorrow,” he adds with a small clap. 

Sam nods his head once before following Clint through the door, and Nat looks at me for a moment. 

“It’s our fight too,” she whispers again and I grimace.

She stands up and walks me to a spare room right besides hers. I try to say no, try to tell her that I’ll leave, but the truth is I have nowhere else to go. My best plan was to go to that abandoned building near the docks, but this is hell of a lot better. So I quietly say thank you and she gives me a small smile and rubs my shoulder before saying goodnight. As she’s walking away and I’m about to enter the room, she turns to me again. “Oh, and Bucky?” she says, and I look at her again. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but... it’s Tony’s fight too.”

I look at her for a moment and then I nod once. She's right on both statements. It _is_ his fight, and I don't really want to hear it. 

\---

The night is full of nightmares -not that I was expecting anything else-, and by the time the morning comes, I find myself reaching to the other side of the bed, looking for the comfort that is no longer there. 

I open my eyes to stare at the ceiling and cry before I'm even fully awake. The numbness is residing, and I'm feeling every bit of the hot raw pain I've been thoroughly avoiding for the past few weeks. It takes me a while to get a grip, and when I do I constantly have to remind myself to breathe, as if it wasn't something natural for me anymore. 

I take a cold shower to snap myself out of it. I can't fall apart until I'm done with HYDRA, until each and every one of their facilities is reduced to rubble. I need to focus on that. Everything else is nothing but a distraction at this point. 

As I walk down the hall, I brace myself to face Stark. I don't really want to, but I know I need to talk to him. Nat's right, he's a part of this, whether I like it or not. 

I find him in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. 

"So you're staying here now," he says when I enter the room, and his tone makes it sound like a question. I feel the urge to cross my arms, but I make an effort to keep them still. I don't want to bring attention to my left one. 

"Not really. The guys let me crush here last night," he nods, and then takes a sip of his coffee. It looks like he's not even listening to me.

"Any particular reason you're still here?" he asks, and I can't blame him for his tone, but I'm also not in the mood to deal with it. Everything feels sharp, intense, like I’m a giant open wound walking around. I breathe deeply and try not to square my shoulders in response. 

"Yes," I say simply, he raises his eyebrows. "I'm going after HYDRA. Nat, Sam and Clint are coming with me." It takes him half a second to process the information, so it makes me think that he wasn't expecting something like that. The sarcastic smirk is back fairly quickly though. 

"So you want my blessing?" I leave out a bitter huff at his question.

"Nat thought you'd want in," the explanation is tired but determined. He seems taken aback for a moment, nodding in a way that makes it look like it's only for himself, and not as a way of answering me. I notice that I can see the possibilities running through his mind. His eyes are way more expressive, way more transparent than I would've thought. His poker face is good, just as long as you don't look him in the eyes.

"And what brilliant plans do you have?" he finally asks. I look at him for a second, but I take my eyes away when he reminds me of his father. The tightness in my chest doesn’t need to get worse right now, no doubt I have enough on my plate.

"None yet. Haven't had the time."

He takes another sip, long and slow, and I get the feeling that he's using the time to ponder on the idea. “To be perfectly clear, me joining wouldn't mean that we’re suddenly friends,” he leaves out in a sharp tone. 

“I don’t want to be your friend,” I reply sincerely. None of that shit matters anymore. _Fuck,_ _I don’t even want to be alive._ "I just want to take them down.” He narrows his eyes at me for a moment. 

"Why are you so keen on finding them?" His question is simple but I roll my eyes to it because it's also useless.

"You know why, maybe better than anyone." I can’t help thinking about what I did to his family, about how he must feel about me. If there was ever anyone with a good reason for wanting revenge, this guy’s it… but he shakes his head. 

"You were looking for them _before_ it happened," he explains, and now I understand his question. _'Why did I leave a life of comfort and happiness to chase after them?', 'why didn't I stay in my_ happy-ever-after _when I had the chance?'_

I lower my eyes to the floor because I've been wondering about that exact same thing since I got my mind back. _Why? Just fucking why?_

"I don't know," I whisper, more to myself than to him. I _really_ don't want to cry in front of him. I don't want him to think I'm trying to get his sympathy. I shrug. "Guess I wanted to take them down." I swallow hard, risking a look at him, but it looks like he's waiting for something else, for something more. Honesty? If it is, then he probably deserves it. After everything I've done, it's the least I can do. I sigh, long and deep and run my right hand through my hair. 

"I didn't want what happened to me to happen to anyone else. The things I've done…" I shake my head. "The world doesn't need another one like me." I want to add _'the world doesn't even need me’_ but I stay quiet. Steve taught me not to say stuff like that. He would make a disappointed face at me and shake his head with true sadness in his eyes. The memory of that expression puts a lump in my throat and it’s too much. I get the urge to get out of here. I _need_ to end this conversation. 

I breathe deeply a few times, trying to concentrate. I can’t get like this. HYDRA or not, I’m a _soldier_ . I shake my head and straighten up a bit, forcing my body to remember, to know that I can’t allow myself to crumble or fall. _I’m a fucking soldier_. 

Stark looks at me for a long moment and then looks around himself. We’re alone. My hearing would have warned me of even the slightest noise, of even the quietest breathing. But even when he confirms that fact, it takes him a second to speak, and when he does, his voice is barely a whisper. 

“Can you remember them?” He finally asks, clearly referring to his parents, and even though I was expecting something like that, his question is like pouring salt in an open wound.

It takes a moment for me to find words again, and the ones I say come out in the same tone he used, quiet and fearful. “Yes, I can.” 

He nods very slowly, probably trying to keep the pain I can see in his eyes from showing on his face. I try to keep quiet, I try to leave it at that and not risk pissing him off, but I can’t. 

“I knew him, you know? Your father,” I whisper and he snaps his head up to look at me. “Before. When I was just… me,” I prepare myself for him to tell me I shouldn’t talk about him, that I don’t have the right, but he doesn’t, so I keep going. “He helped Steve…” I bite my tongue because I was about to say he helped him save me. I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I get the irony of it. I know he signed his own death sentence the day he helped save me. “He helped all of us,” I correct myself. “When we were trying to take down HYDRA.” For a moment I feel like he’s truly analyzing me, _watching_ my every move in a way that strips off my skin and gets right to my core, straight through me. I’m made of glass. Broken, useless, shattered glass. 

“Did you know _her_ ?” he asks, and I grimace. Judging by his tone and the way his eyes well up, I know I’m on thin ice.

“I met her once,” I answer quietly, but he seems to be waiting for more, so I keep going. “After the howling commandos took down the first base the military put together a party. Your father introduced me to you mother when I approached him to say hello. It was a fancy dinner, the kind where people drink expensive wine and toast with champagne, the kind where they waltz and talk politics.”

I remember looking at myself in the mirror before going, thanking god I had my dress uniform, because otherwise I wouldn’t have had anything to wear to a party like that. I remember Steve telling me I looked good when I got there. Not in a lusty kind of way, just kind and sincere, a good person complimenting a friend, making him feel better. I remember his smile when I replied with a _‘shut up’_ and rolled my eyes. 

I suppress a whine. Why can’t I keep my mind from wandering off back to him? “I had been rescued from HYDRA a few weeks prior and didn't really feel OK," I take a breath, I'm getting sidetracked, he doesn't care about all that shit. "Anyway, let's just say I wasn’t exactly comfortable. I talked to her a bit when I was trying to find somewhere quiet.” I try to smile at him. “She was a very kind person,” I say, trying not to cross any lines. I don’t want to push my luck, but he doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks sad, and I think that that might be worse, so, _so_ much worse. I've never talked to someone in his position before, someone whose life I've ruined, and it's tearing me apart. 

“Do you regret it?” he whispers and wipes off a tear from his cheek with a swift brush of his hand. Looking at him like this, I can finally feel the real age difference between us. I'm older, _so much_ older than him. It’s like talking to a child. Not in a deprecating way, but in the sense that he’s showing me a side of himself that makes him seem vulnerable. He’s suddenly a scared child, hurt beyond reason and with every right to be upset.

“ _Of course_ I do. Every single day,” I whisper back. “I know it probably means squat to you, but for what it's worth: I am _so_ sorry for what I did to them. For what I did to you.” I do my best to hold his gaze, to let him know I’m being truly honest, and this time he’s the one who breaks eye contact. He turns away and breathes slowly for a moment. 

“Thank you,” he whispers with his back turned to me and I’m not sure what to say, but before I can figure it out he clears his throat and pours himself another coffee. I can see it in the way he squares his shoulders and straightens his back: the conversation is over, just as quickly and suddenly as it started. 

The silence lingers for a minute, until I can't take it anymore. “You know what?” I say, trying to force my voice to get in line. “I’ll get out of your hair for a while, come back later to see if you want in."

I wait for some kind of response, but I don't get one, so I turn and head to the door. 

"Hey, Sargent," he says, and I frown a bit. I don't feel like a Sargent anymore, but I think it beats the hell out of him calling me 'soldier'. I turn again. "You don't have to leave." I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Don't look so surprised, it's a big place, we won't have to run into each other at all." That edge is back to his words, but his tone doesn't seem quite as aggressive anymore. "Besides, I think we should keep an eye on you."

I look at him for a moment, but he's busy getting something out of the fridge. 

"Are you sure?" I ask quietly.

"I won't say it again," he answers. I nod, a bit confused by the clear conflict between _what_ he's saying, and _the way_ he's saying it.

"Ok. Then I'll be in the room next to Nat's." He makes an unconcerned noise and I turn and leave, pleased with the unexpected turn of the conversation. There's _a lot_ of things that could have gone _a lot_ worse in a talk like that, and I'm counting it as a win. God knows I need every win I can get.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry it took me so long to update, it's been a crazy few weeks at work. Anyway, hope y'all doing great!

**Chapter 20**

I have a small breakdown around noon, when I accidentally look in the bathroom's mirror and see the winter soldier staring back at me. The sad hurt filled eyes and the bags beneath them make my skin crawl, and I end up sitting on the floor hugging my own legs and unsuccessfully trying to get my thoughts under control. 

I try to tell myself that the winter soldier would never have so much emotion in his face, that that pain I can see is _mine_ , not his. The sorrow and the regret printed into that face are my own. It doesn't take away the feeling, but it certainly helps. As long as I can feel all of this, I'll be me and not him. 

About two hours later, Nat stops by to bring me some food. I tell her that I'm not hungry, but she asks me when was the last time I ate something solid. I vaguely remember eating raw potatoes on the ship, about a week ago, but I don't tell her that. I'm so ashamed of it, of exactly how much I lost myself during that time, that I just shrug and thank her for the food. 

She stays with me for a while and I eat without tasting, mostly so that she won't worry about me. She doesn't need to be worrying about me. 

"You know, this was Steve's room when he stayed here," she tells me quietly when I take the last bite. She's looking around, and I do too, trying to find something that will hint at it, but I can't find anything. 

"Was it?" I ask, my throat closing around the words.

"Yeah. He didn't come here much lately, but his clothes must still be on the drawers. You can try them on if you want." 

I smile at her, thankful about the fact that she would even take the time to think about something like that. Right now, wearing one of Steve's old shirts sounds like having a piece of him with me. "That'd be nice," I say quietly, and I hope she can tell how thankful I am. 

\---

Around four I've already showered and changed, and I'm heading to the kitchen. I feel a lot better when I concentrate on something tangible, and taking down those fuckers is a hell of a good choice. 

Steve was the strongest planner of the group -no surprise there-, but we're motivated and can't wait to do something about it, so the plan surges up easily throughout the conversation. Thinking about it feels natural, almost inevitable. Everything we agree on feels like something that _has_ to be done. Each step is fairly logical, methodical. 

Barely a couple hours later the plan is set and the players are willing. Not much else to do but eat, sleep, and get ready to go. 

\---

That night, we all eat together in the kitchen. The atmosphere is glum but there's a certain atmosphere of anticipation hanging in the air around us. We're pretty confident. We have to be, otherwise everything will fall apart. 

Nat walks me to Steve's room again, like she's afraid I won't find the way on my own. "Can I come in for a moment?" She asks politely, and I move away from the door and into the room, because I know she doesn't trust me enough to walk in first, to have her back to me, and I don't want to put her in a position where she's forced to say that out loud. 

She leans back on the desk, almost sitting, with her arms and legs crossed. 

"I need to ask you about something," her tone is calm and collected, but her words sound exactly like a grim 'we need to talk' and that's never something good so I brace myself for the worst. I sit on the bed and look up at her. "There's no polite way of saying this, so keep in mind that I'm not judging you, OK?" I nod once. 

"When you just arrived you said that Steve had _'said your words'_. Tony told us you meant your trigger words." I nod, intertwining my fingers to keep my hands still because this whole conversation makes me anxious. "What's keeping _them_ from using those words on you, too?" she says simply. The question is clear, raw, right to the point.

"Technically, nothing," I answer truthfully. "But I have a theory. I'm pretty sure that without the machine they used to wipe my memory, the words aren't something instantaneous," I breathe to try and avoid the lump in my throat that comes with recalling that dreadful moment. "Steve had to grab me and say all of them before I was gone. If the circumstances had been different, I think I could've avoided it. The thing is…" I unglue my eyes from the floor and look up at her "I wasn't willing to hurt him to make him stop." I make a pause, still looking at her. "That is _not_ the case now." We hold each other's gaze for a moment and then she nods and I look away. 

"Ok," she says softly and shrugs while adding, "I had to ask." 

"I know," I try to offer her a small smile of reassurance. "But you don't have to worry about it, this time I'm prepared for it, and I'm not planning on giving them enough time to try something like that."

"That's the spirit," she replies with a half smile that _has_ to be forced but doesn't look like it, and heads towards the door.

"Hey, Nat?" She turns around with one hand on the doorknob. "Thank you for doing this. For everything."

She smiles a bit more naturally and whispers "Good night, Bucky," before she leaves. 

\---

"Everyone remember the plan?" Stark's voice is firm, calculated, and the rest of us nod in response. It's fairly simple, to be honest, and we even went over it before heading out: Push forward together for as long as soldiers come at us to defend the place and once we reach the complex of buildings, just split up and destroy the place. Incapacitate and capture whoever looks like they might know something. 

When all of this is over, we'll go to where the tunnel used to be and retrieve Steve's body from the rubble. I'm not exactly looking forward to that part of the day, but he deserves better than to be buried down there. I shake my head to get rid of the thought. I can't think about that right now. 

"No killing unless they come at you." He adds that last line while looking straight at me. _I'm_ the one who said I'd rather kill everyone on sight. Nat argued that there might be people who have nothing to do with HYDRA's plans, she said _I_ was one of those people, that I literally was in one of these places against my will not so long ago. I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that it doesn't matter, that I would've actually _preferred_ being killed instead of being with HYDRA, instead of becoming a monster. I keep quiet because saying stuff like that won't get me anywhere. It won't convince them, it will only make them feel like I'll go psycho without any warning. I won't. If there's a plan I'll honor it. And I _did_ tell them about my one condition, my one exception: I get to kill anyone who tries to capture me again. They all agreed. 

We know there's no reason for us to be quiet, because they probably already know that we're here, so we land the jet as close as we can without being exposed to possible missile attacks, and gear up. Nat lets me borrow a couple of her guns and I still have my own and a few knives for backup. The weight of the guns feels familiar and foreign at the same time. It makes my stomach plummet to my feet but I shake my head and try to ignore it as best as I can. 

"Everybody ready?" Stark asks while pressing his hand casually to the side of the ship. Mechanical parts of the ship start moving, getting close to him, like some kind of robotic arms, each leaving a piece of metal over his body. Before I can get my head wrapped around the idea, he's wearing his Iron man suit. He got it on in _seconds._

"Let's tear them a new one," Clint answers as the rest of us just nod. Stark walks until he's in the center of the group. Clint and Nat are to his right, Sam and me to his left, but the door doesn't open.

"Scan," Stark says, and then a few seconds later: "Five soldiers at 10 o'clock, four at 2 o'clock and nine coming right ahead. There's another wave about two minutes away." We nod again. "Jarvis, you know what to do." A hatch opens up right above him and he flies through it just as the door starts opening too. 

Sam flies away too as soon as he has enough space to make it through the door, and Clint shoots three arrows up and away, aiming blindly to our far right.

Stark takes out the soldiers in the middle with a blast just as the door opens all the way, allowing Nat and me to start shooting too. She sneaks out to the right and I choose left with a not-so-subtle approach. I rain down some bullets on them, a couple of kicks and punches to the ones that are closest to me, and that’s it. They don’t even seem to be properly trained. 

It takes less than a second for me to understand why the soldiers surrounding the jet were barely a challenge, I know what they were: nothing but nameless expendable goons, meant to buy time before the real artillery can get ready. "They were just a distraction," I say, talking into the tech that Stark put in my ear, hoping they can hear me. There's only a few places to take cover on the otherwise open field, so I hide behind a bush to try and listen to their approach. "I've seen this before. The second wave won't be as easy." 

_"You heard him, don't get too cocky,"_ Stark says loud and clear in my ear, although I can see he’s far away. I decide they're taking too long to just wait for them, and start running to the next cover I see, a fairly big rock about a hundred yards away.

I hear an explosion to my right and turn my head to it as I keep moving, to make sure everyone’s OK. Sam’s voice lets me know what’s going on: _“Guys! Keep your eyes open, cover is compromised. I repeat: cover is compromised.”_ I look back at the rock I’m running to just in time to see the series of mines buried in the grass. I plant my feet on the ground but I’m going too fast to be able to stop completely without falling. I slide on the floor for a second, until I dig my fingers on the ground to stop myself right before hitting the mines. It takes me a moment to process just how close of a call that was. 

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly out of breath. I stand up and look out, scanning the field more thoroughly than before. The whole place is crawling with traps. I can see more landmines, a few trip wires, some hidden bear traps…

 _“Damnit,”_ Clint replies, probably realizing the same thing. They're not playing around.

 _“Work through it, use it to your advantage,”_ Stark instructs.

 _“_ _Roger,”_ Sam replies, just as the next wave is getting to us. It’s way more people, and they’re definitely well trained, no question about it… but they're still only normal human beings. I take out five with the automatic gun and then toss it aside when it runs out of ammunition. 

Just one blow with my left hand takes out the next one that comes at me, even though they're wearing full body armor. I take their gun and shield myself from some bullets as I aim for the next group. I toss the new gun at another one of them when it stops working too, and decide that it'll be best to save some ammo in case I really need it later. 

Taking them down with my knife feels a lot more personal somehow, and it takes a second for me to get used to it again. _'They're HYDRA'_ I remind myself, but still, the feeling of the blade slicing so easily into the soft flesh makes my skin crawl and my stomach turn. I'm suddenly glad they didn't agree with me about killing everybody, I don't think I could've handled it. 

I have to focus. Another guy comes at me and I shake him off and kick him in the chest out of pure instinct, sending him flying back and right through a trap wire that goes off with an explosion. I have to look away from the image. The blast left him torn up into pieces on the floor, his blank expression barely distinguishable on his messed up face. 

My ears are ringing and I feel like I might throw up. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ I _have_ killed before, even before being the winter soldier I had a fair number of deaths under my belt, so _why is this so fucking hard?_ I breathe in carefully for just a second, trying to avoid the sharp smell of blood while I scan the field for more traps, but five other people come at me as soon as I lower my guard. I'm fucking up, I _need_ to focus.

I take one out with a swift elbow to the neck, but the rest electrocute me with one of their weapons, taking me by surprise. The electricity running through my veins takes me back to the fucking chair, I'm in that first base, getting my mind wiped out and my brain scrambled. I can smell my own skin burning and hear myself screaming and begging for them to just kill me. My heart is racing. _I'm terrified._

I shake my head, I can't let the memory take over, so I try to push through it as best as I can and strike one on the stomach, but two of them grab my arms while another one gets me on a headlock. _Fuck,_ I can't breathe. The fourth one keeps electrocuting me. They're _touching_ me! How the hell are they not affected by it? I can smell burnt hair and flesh but I can't wiggle myself out of it. I curse under my breath and keep trying to struggle, but I soon realize that I'm weaker by the minute. 

I try to headbutt the one behind me, but they're wearing a helmet, so that won't do much damage. The electricity is probably making my arm malfunction too, because I can't fucking get it to work either. 

My eyes go wide when the one electrocuting me speaks, loud and clear over the sound of the fight surrounding us, over the sound of my own memories of torture and reconditioning. My first trigger word. That snaps me out of it like an ice cold shower. I don't let him get to the second word. I use the guy behind me as support for getting my feet off the ground and around the soldier's neck, trapping it between my thighs. The snap comes as a surprise to the guy on my right and his hold falters a bit with the movement, enough for me to free my arm. 

I get my hand on the neck of the guy on my left and squeeze until I feel his trachea snap. It's a lot easier now that the threat of them capturing me is fresh in my mind. Just HYDRA's soldiers. They don't deserve sympathy. They're all doomed. 

Getting rid of the last two would've been a piece of cake if not for the other four that saw us and came to their aid. _"Seriously?"_ I ask mostly to myself, still struggling against the headlock. I kick one more on the chest and another one in the head before the guy behind me loosens his grip on my neck. I get away ducking and rolling, taking a second to get some air in my lungs now that I'm able to breathe. 

As I get up, I see the reason why I'm free. The guy's lying face down on the floor, Nat has one knee firmly set on his back and a wire around his neck. I tackle someone who's about to shoot me and break their neck with my elbow before getting quickly on my feet again. 

"Thanks," I tell her when she gets up.

"Don't mention it," she replies and gets a bit closer. I instinctively turn away to be back to back, in a way that lets us prevent and avoid attacks from every possible angle. 

"You OK?" she asks while we fight.

"Don't worry about it," I answer without missing a beat. I feel way better now that she's watching my back. The lot that comes at us doesn't stand a fucking chance. 

_"Tank!"_ Sam's voice comes about two seconds before I see the projectile flying through the air, aimed too close to where we are. Nat gets on her knees instinctively, covering her head with her arms and I crouch and hold her, protecting her from the blast as much as I can while guarding my own head with my left hand. 

The explosion hits near and is loud as hell. They could've gotten us, but they definitely didn't think this through, because the initial blast triggers a series of smaller ones all around us. They set all their own traps at once. _Idiots._

I think we're safe from the worst of it, but the few soldiers around us who were still standing aren't so lucky. There's not even one on their feet when I dare to look up. "You OK?" I ask back when I get on my feet and offer her a hand to help her stand. She's looking at me with wide eyes.

"Yeah… Thanks," she murmurs a few seconds later.

"We need to get out of here," I say and she nods. I grab her hand and start walking quickly towards the buildings. My ears are ringing, but I hear Stark shooting the tank so I shield Natasha again when it blows up. Luckily, we're pretty far away by now. 

_"Everybody OK?"_ Stark's voice is clear, and the rest of us quickly confirm our status. No one's hurt. "I think that's all of them for now," he informs us. Him and Sam are the only ones who have an aerial view of the battlefield, so they said they'd keep the rest of us updated in that regard. 

_"Push forward?"_ Sam asks, and Stark agrees. We split up and I get to the building in the far end, the one that seems bigger but is mostly concealed. I pick that one because it reminds me of the one they conditioned me in, and something deep inside me wants to tear it down completely, watch it burn to the ground. 

I bypass the door pulling the handle straight off, shoot the two guards and kill or capture my way in, depending on the reaction of the people I encounter. Seeing them, I _know_ Nat was right, these people aren't fighters… killing them would've been wrong. But I have to admit that dealing with the ones in lab coats is more difficult than I thought it would be. 

The farther I go into the building, the more familiar it feels, and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to lose my mind. I shouldn't have come here alone. I should've brought Nat or Sam with me, just to make sure I wouldn't have a full on mental breakdown. 

The way the building looks sends chills up my spine. The grey brick walls, the exposed pipes, the dark blue doors. HYDRA uses the same blueprints for all their bases, so I've run past doors like these while trying to escape. I've _crawled_ past them too. 

The smells do absolutely nothing to help. It feels like I could choke on them: chemicals, blood and bleach. It's filling the air around me, messing with my head. I catch myself checking for wounds several times, as if my mind can't believe the blood I smell is not my own. 

Even the sounds are familiar. The way the building itself seems to be groaning, as if in protests of the things happening inside. 

I turn a corner and realize I haven't found anyone in this wing of the building yet. Maybe they all left when they heard the commotion outside. That would've been smart. The next hall I see has been pulled out straight from my nightmares. The metal doors, the smell of mold and bleach, the dim yellow lights. I know what this is. 

These doors don't lead to labs or offices, these rooms are designed to hold people against their will. _Cells_. I can feel the heat rising in my chest when I think about why they would keep people in cells. 

I walk to the first door and open the slot to look in. There's an unconscious person inside, apparently a woman. I hesitate with my hand on the handle, but ultimately decide not to open the door. If she's a prisoner or a traitor we can free her later, preferably after this whole hell-breaking-loose that's going on right now. And if it's a trap, we can deal with it later too. Either way, it's better to interrogate her to be sure which one it is. 

I go to the next door and see a middle aged man curled up on the bed. I check the next one, and the next.

I try not to think about it, but I can't help it, the thought forms on its own, completely out of my control: What if they… _found_ him? What if he's here? I walk faster and faster to each new door. The name is burning in my tongue, but I hold it back fiercely. I shouldn't have hope. It'd be so stupid for me to have hope. 

But then again… _What if._ No! I _can't_ have hope, not if it'll get shattered again. I don't think I'd be able to survive something like that, I’d lose myself completely… and yet I run faster, checking and discarding cells like I'm in some sort of bingo from hell. 

The third to last door has someone crouching beside the bed, mostly covered by it. It looks like they're hugging their own legs, and I can hear a soft constant cry. I remember being in their place, I remember the feeling of hopelessness and despair. Something deep inside my chest wants to tear the door down and tell this person that everything will be alright now, but I can't risk it. I can't let my guard down. 

_Don’t let your guard down._ I repeat that to myself like a mantra, but it all goes to hell when the next door has a man lying down on the bed, facing away from me. He has broad shoulders and blond hair, but is covered from neck to toe with a raggedy, worn-out blanket. My chest is burning cold, my entire body is trembling. _Could it be possible?_

Once again, I painfully swallow the name that is bubbling up my throat. I don't want to say it. _Don't even think about it._ I can feel the words getting stuck in my throat, or maybe it's just my heart trying to climb up it. I don't care about the mission anymore, or about the risk of the situation I'm putting myself in. I _have_ to get closer.

I start banging on the door, near the hinges to get it off frame, but it's heavy and sturdy as hell, so I think it'll be quicker to get the key. I figure they must be in the guard room I passed on my way in, so I walk back down the hallway of cells and towards the little empty room.

Getting them is easy, they’re hanging on a board like this is some sort of backwards hotel taken straight out of a nightmare, but when I turn to get out of the room, my whole world gets turned upside down. I blink against the vision that’s blocking the door, but it doesn’t disappear. It doesn’t go away. 

This can't be true. I must be hallucinating or something. My body feels numb and unresponsive, my senses are completely focused on the man in front of me. 

"Steve?" I croak out, finally allowing the name to escape from me, voice soft and barely above a whisper. He's… here. He’s alive. He's fucking alive and right in front of me. _It can't be true._ Am I unconscious? Am I dead? Honestly, I don't even give a fuck anymore. It's all worth it. 

I want to run at him, but my feet seem to be unable to move. I manage to take a hesitant step, but he takes a step back and something in my gut warns me to stay away. He's looking at me, but his blue eyes go straight through me, like he doesn't really know that I'm here… like he doesn't even know who I am. 

"You're…" I leave out quietly. My blood freezes in my veins in the fraction of a second that it takes for me to understand what's going on. _They caught him._ I look at him more thoroughly, trying to get over the shock, hoping that he'll recognize me… but nothing in his features makes it seem like he does, and my heart breaks with the realization. 

"...not Steve," I whisper bitterly. Of all the people they could've caught, they took _him_. They _changed_ him. _Why him?_

He's prepared to fight, standing like I’m gonna attack him from one moment to the next. He’s also wearing a full body tactical suit, completely black, except for the red star on the middle of his chest. “Do you know who you are?” I whisper, but he doesn’t answer. He just keeps aiming his gun at my chest. 

The relief of seeing him alive is fighting hard against the pain of seeing him turned into one of them. I feel like I can't breathe. It takes everything I have to put my hands up as a sign of surrender. I don't know what they did to him, not for sure -although I might be one of the few people who can take a wild fucking guess-, but I know for a fact that it couldn't have been pretty. 

I clear my throat to buy some time to try and swallow the big lump obstructing it, and do my best to sound collected as I speak. "Listen to me, OK? Everything's gonna be fine, I'm not here to hurt you," he frowns and I can tell he's about to take a shot, so I move to get some cover. The room is small, but I manage to block the bullets with my arm and walk towards him until I can push him back and out. 

He hits the hallway’s opposite wall, but gets back on his feet pretty quickly, looking at my arm. I think maybe he recognized me, and I’m damn right, but not in the way I’d wish, because the look on his face is menacing. _“Winter Soldier number one, stand down,”_ he instructs in fluent Rusian, and my eyes go wide. _Fuck._

“Guys…” I say, hoping they can hear me. “Guys, I need backup,” my voice is trembling because I know what his next words are gonna be, and I can’t let it happen. Not again. Not now that I know I’m on the right side. He doesn’t go for the gun that fell out of his hands when he hit the wall, but I know he’s just as dangerous without it. 

_“Longing,”_ he starts, and I go at him. I can’t let him continue. Not this time, not again. I take a swing getting him right across his jaw, and then I back up towards the exit when he’s not looking. I turn to look at him as I run through the doors that lead me to the prison wing and I can see he’s already on my heels. 

He takes another shot at me just as I turn a corner, and I hide behind a column when I get to an open space. 

“I’m at the southeast wing of the far end building, running towards the entrance,” I inform through my earpiece and pray for them to hear me. If they don’t, I’m doomed. I know I won’t be able to escape in time, not before he can get to me. “I need back up. I repeat: I _need_ backup” I say again when he catches up with me and kicks me on the chest sending me flying back.

 _“_ _Rusted,”_ he says when I’m on the floor.

“Shut up,” I reply. I swipe my leg to get him off his feet and I get up as fast as I can to run towards the main hall.

 _“_ _Furnace,”_ he adds right before I get through the doors. I shake my head to try and fight it. I know I won’t be able to avoid it, but I _have_ to try. 

He’s running right behind me, and crushes into me when I try to turn to the doors that lead outside. I hit the wall and he pulls a knife on me. I manage to fight it off pretty quickly, but not before he can speak again. _“Daybreak,”_ he says, and I punch him again before I keep running. 

I told Nat that this _wouldn’t_ happen. I _told_ her they’d be safe from me, that I wouldn’t get caught. I gave her my word. I can’t go back. I don’t want to go back. 

When I get through the doors, I feel somehow better. The place looks like a warzone, but it’s better than being trapped. The fresh air clears my mind a bit, but I _know_ I’m not out of the woods just yet. I try to breathe deeply a couple of times, and I make the mistake of staying still for too long, because something hits me. Something big and heavy, too big for me to shake it off after a hit like that. I’m confused and pinned down by some sort of metal structure, and I leave out a whine before I open my eyes to see him walking towards me. 

“Steve, don’t,” I plea, but he’s not listening to me. He stops walking when he gets close, and I can see the determination in his face. He’s not standing down.

 _“_ _Seventeen”._ He says, loud and clear. I try to fight it. This can’t happen again. _“Beni-”_

An explosion near him gets him off his feet, and I look up to see Stark aiming his hand at him. “No means no, Cap,” he says, and lowers himself to the ground without letting his guard down. Steve throws something at him and Stark's suit seems to malfunction. He gets stuck in one place, unable to move, and I panic. 

I turn as fast as I can to be able to push the thing off of me with my metal arm, and drag myself out from underneath it. When I’m finally out, I look around to try and find Steve, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I knock the device that Steve threw at Stark off of his chest and he’s able to move again.

His mask retracts and he looks like he’s completely out of breath. “You OK?” I ask him, and he nods. I look around to try and find Steve again, but I can’t. I don’t even know which way he ran. 

“You still with us?” Stark asks. Am I? I make a quick mental check. I remember my name. I know what I’m doing, I know who I’m talking to.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” I reply. 

“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” he says back and I look at him before I nod. A shiver climbs up my spine when I think about how close he got, how fucking close I was to loosing myself. I know that this _can’t_ happen again. 


	21. Chapter 21

"If I would've known then what I would have to lose to find them, the real cost of it, I would've let them be. I would've walked away with him still by my side." My voice is quiet while I put into words my biggest regret. 

I'm lying on the floor looking up at the sky. Nat brought me to the building's roof, and now she's sitting by my side with her back resting on a wall. 

"I don't think either of you would have been OK with HYDRA still out there," she offers quietly. Her hand is on my leg near my ankle, probably trying to give me some comfort. 

"You didn't see him, Nat. The look on his face. It was someone else entirely… I wish I could just go back in time and yell at myself. Tell myself to let it go, that it’s not worth it. That I'll lose him, that they'll get him, that they'll change him." I'm crying, but I don't make a sound, it's just the tears rolling silently from my eyes and onto the floor, obscuring my view of the sky. 

"You can get him back." Her words aren't nothing but the lies she knows I want to hear. I huff bitterly. 

" _ How? _ If Stark hadn't shown up, I'd be just as gone as he is. You don't know how little it takes to turn me if I can't fight to avoid it. He'll get to me long before I can get to him. He almost did." I turn my face to look at her. "I don't want to go back to HYDRA."

"Then you train, get stronger." I shake my head, repulsed by the idea of fighting him. 

"I don't want to hurt him. I  _ can't _ ." I'm whispering, trying so hard to keep my voice under control, but I know she can see right through my efforts. 

"No, I meant train to ignore the words. If they're part of your conditioning, you can learn to ignore them." I look at her again, frowning. 

"You really think I could do that?" 

"With enough practice, yeah." She gives me a reassuring squeeze with the hand she keeps on my leg. "I won't lie, it'll be hard, and you'll need to work your ass off. But you already broke the mindset two times, so we  _ know _ it's possible." 

I think about it for a minute, looking back at the sky, relishing in the idea of being able to completely control myself when someone says those words to me. For the first time, that possibility is suddenly in my brain, and I'm loving the way it makes me feel… but the truth is that I would have absolutely no idea of what to do or where to start. My resolution deflates when reality hits me: I have  _ no _ chance of doing something like this alone.

"Would you…" I start, but my voice fades. How do I even ask for something so big? She looks at me, patiently waiting for me to find the words. "I don't know how to do it alone," I finally whisper after a moment. She gives me that practiced smile of hers. 

"Good thing you're not alone, then." Her kind tone and her words force me to look away. I cover my face with my hands. The fact that she says something like that when I'm feeling more alone than I've ever felt in my entire life… it's too much for me. I still feel like my chest is wide open, my heart completely vulnerable to every little thing around me. Good or bad.  _ Everything hurts just the same.  _

A few minutes pass with only the distant sounds of the cars interrupting the silence. 

"You'd really be willing to help me?" I ask in a whisper, looking at her again. 

"Bucky, we're talking about giving you a chance to get Steve back. And I'm pretty sure you'd be the only one who could. So if you let me,  _ of course _ I'll help. Any of us would." 

I don't say anything for another while, I just lie there looking up at the sky, trying to process everything, thinking about what happened earlier. I remember the smoke filling the air around HYDRA's compound after we finished taking out all of their buildings. I remember Stark and Sam telling us that Steve was nowhere to be found, no matter how far they'd look or what type of scanner they'd use. I remember the last moment I saw him, walking towards me while I was trapped under the tank. The way he was talking, his words.  _ My  _ words. 

"I'll have to tell you my words," I say to Nat when I figure it out. 

"Yes, I'll have to know them to be able to help you," she makes a pause, but doesn't break eye contact. "Will you be OK with that?" 

"Will  _ you _ ? I lose control when I'm…  _ him.  _ Aren't you afraid that I might hurt you?" 

"Not really. The way I see it, you don't  _ lose _ control, you give it up to the person saying those words. You're the vulnerable one in that situation. You just have to trust that I won't make you do anything you'll regret." 

"I do," I leave out quietly. "Trust you, I mean." She's the closest thing I have to a friend right now. Even before, when Steve was around, I enjoyed spending time with her and knew she wouldn't try and hurt us. 

"There's not many people who would say that," she whispers. She's trying to make a joke, but I detect a note of bitterness behind her facade. After all she's been through, her life must be so lonely sometimes. Slowly, I extend my hand to her and wait until she holds it to give her fingers a little squeeze. 

"I mean it," I say simply, and then think about it for a second. "But I'm usually the one who should not be trusted, and I'm guessing you have just as many trust issues as I do, so let's see how long it takes for  _ you  _ to trust  _ me."  _ I smile at her and she smiles back without saying another word. 

\---

"Are you sure about this?" Nat asks one more time. We're alone in the gym of the Avengers' tower, but I know we're being monitored. To be honest, I kinda feel safer because of that. I nod in response to her question.

We're standing several feet apart, facing each other, and I asked her to restrain me, so there's a thick chain holding my left leg. I already made sure that it was sturdy enough, so I know it will at least give her time to escape if I go out of line. 

She was right about her having control over me once the words get to me, but I'm afraid I might hurt her in the process, trying to avoid them out of pure instinct. Truth is that I really shouldn't be trusted.

"Ready?" I take a deep breath. I wrote the words for her in a piece of paper, and she talked me through how this would work, so I'm bracing myself for it. I know I probably won't be able to avoid it the first few times, but I have to do my best. I nod again, giving her a green light. 

Three words in I'm already struggling for control, trying my best to keep myself still, I’m already starting to slip away. 

"Stop," I leave out between my teeth at the sixth one, but a part of me knows I asked her not to stop, regardless of what I'd say or how much I’d beg. Either way, I can't help but panic. My brain is tearing apart between the need to obey and the instinct to avoid it, the raw need of keeping my free will. On the ninth word I'm on my hands and knees because of the effort of trying to hold on to myself. 

I feel like I’m falling into a hole, further away from reality with each word that comes out of Nat’s mouth. I’m being buried alive. And then everything stops. The room is silent, and I look up to see my superior standing before me. I stand up slowly, eyes front.

_ “Ready to comply."  _ She sights, but doesn’t give me any orders.  __

\---

“You can sit again,” she says, and I do, looking at her. “Can you tell me my name again?” 

“Agent Romanoff.”

“Can you tell me yours?” We’ve already been through this a hundred times, but I can’t help to speak.

“Winter soldier number one. Ready to comply.” She sighs. 

“That’s  _ not _ your name.” I close my eyes for a second. What does she want from me? I don’t have any further information. Can’t she see that? And if she doesn’t, why won’t she start the discipline treatment already? 

\---

I’m on my knees again, trying to get everything to stop spinning. My stomach is churning, my lungs feel empty. 

“Bucky.” I say.  _ Finally.  _ I found the name and the rest came flooding back, overwhelmingly fast.  _ “My name’s Bucky.” _ I repeat, and my superior sighs. I look up. Nat. She’s Nat. 

“Well done,” she encourages me and crouches besides me, getting closer. I’m struggling to breathe, but I don’t shake the light hand she lays on my shoulder. 

"Can you tell me something about yourself?" 

It takes a while for me to find something. "I love Steve," I say eventually. That feels like one of the most important things to me right now.

"Good. Very good." 

“How long did it take me?” My question is said between deep desperate breaths. I look at her when she doesn’t answer, moving to end up sitting on the floor, with my legs flexed and my elbows resting on both my knees. “Nat. How long?” I press. 

“About 7 hours,” her words are nothing but a whisper, but they feel like she’s shouting them in my drilling aching head. I close my eyes and leave out a long pained  _ ‘Fuck’ _ . “But you got out of it. And you’ll do better next time.” I huff.

“Nat,  _ look at me _ .” It’s pretty easy to see that I’m completely spent. I’m sweating, trembling, feel like I’ve been beaten up restlessly, and can barely force myself to think properly. “I can’t do this. I’m not… _ I can’t.”  _

My voice breaks and she takes a seat beside me on the floor, running her hand on my back while I hide my face on my hands. 

"You just need more practice, that's all," I can tell she's not comfortable with the emotional stuff, but I can’t control my reactions, I’m all over the place. I feel defenseless, skinless, completely raw.

I try to think straight, but my mind is clouded, tired. I feel like I could just roll over and fall asleep right here. Nat opens the lock holding my leg and tosses the chain aside. I didn't even realize that it was still on. Luckily I didn't break it. 

"Come on. You need to eat something, take a shower, sleep. You'll feel better." I do as she says almost as if I was still under her control, maybe that's not so far off. Part of me wants to get back to it immediately, keep practicing, but I know I'm really in no position or state of mind to really be making any progress. 

I fall asleep as soon as I get out of the shower, and wake up some hours later, confused and overwhelmed. My head is killing me so I can barely think, but I get up and go see Nat to ask her if she's available. I can't give up. 

\---

_ "23 hours?!  _ Are you serious?" I'm on my knees again, panting breathlessly, trying not to throw up. My head is spinning wildly, completely out of control. "Why did it take so long?" 

This is my fourth attempt, and by far the worst. She takes a minute before answering, probably making sure that I can hold on to my breakfast. 

"Remember what we talked about?" I sit on the floor and put my head between my knees to dampen the heavy dizziness. "How we said that we would try to get you to come back without  _ actively bringing  _ you back?"

I close my eyes a bit tighter. Now that she says it, the memory is starting to get clearer. The primary objective of this whole thing is to get me to ignore the words completely, but we agreed that in case it didn't work out, I needed a plan B. 

Plan B, in this case, is being able to snap out of it with little to no help, as I'd be forced to do if I was really captured by HYDRA. 

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I remember," I pause for a moment, checking thoroughly on my mental state. It's definitely not the best, but I'm myself again, at least mostly. I know my name, I remember hers, I can tell why I'm here. "It's useless," I add when I'm done. "If it really had been HYDRA, they would've had more than enough time to get me to the machine, and then I'd be done for. No memories to recall, at least not in the short run." 

She seems to take a moment to process my words. 

"You think it'll be better to focus on avoiding it." 

I nod, and regret it immediately, when everything starts spinning again. 

"Yeah, I think so. I can't… I can't focus on both." 

She nods, gives me some mostly meaningless encouragement and sends me to bed almost immediately. 

I cry myself to sleep, and dream about Steve talking to the winter soldier as I lie still and helpless in a corner of the room. 

A couple of days go by before I can even get out of bed. I feel completely drained, physically as well as mentally, but I have to keep going. Giving up is not an option. 

\---

The next time I can't avoid it either, and it takes me nine hours to recover. Apparently, mentioning Steve and forcing me to think about him is the quickest way of getting me to snap out of it… same as when he freed me up on the helicarrier. It was harder that time, and the memories took  _ weeks _ to come back decently, but I know that was because of the machine. I need to avoid that fucking thing at all costs. 

\---

Next best mark I get is six hours, several attempts later. I'm growing tired and frustrated in ways I didn't even know were possible. It feels like the pain is slipping right through my  _ bones.  _

I sit up slowly on the bed, still unsure if sleeping helps at all. The nightmares are getting unbearable, so I'm choosing to go sleepless for as long as I can, but I still can't help it sometimes, the training is taking a toll on me. 

I rub my eyes and run my hands through my hair. The room is dark, but I find my way to the bathroom with no problem, and splash some cold water on my face to try and wake myself up. I rest my weight on the sink and stare at the towel covering the mirror. I’m not brave enough to look at myself lately. Not since we started this whole training thing.  _ What if it’s just him in the reflection? _

\---

“I’m Bucky,” I confirm. “You’re Natasha, we’re at the Avengers’ tower.” I feel sweaty and cold at the same time, like I’m just burning cold. 

"Can you tell me something about yourself?" I squeeze my brain for something, anything I can tell her. The information feels scrambled, out of place. 

"I like coffee with two sugars," I say finally. It kinda sounds like a question, but she smiles anyway. 

“You got it, big boy. Nice job,” she encourages me, but I dismiss it with a wave of my hand. 

“How long?” I’m getting used to the headaches by now, like I’m numb to it, but I still can’t get rid of the nausea. 

“Nine hours,” she replies, more quietly.

“ _ Fuck!”  _ I punch the floor beneath me out of pure frustration, leaving a pretty noticeable dent in the concrete. Luckily, it was with my left hand, so I won’t have to see a doctor. “I’m not getting any better at it,” I complain a moment later, after sitting on the floor. I’m pulling at my hair, trying hard not to rip it off. 

“It’s getting easier to bring you back,” she says, and I can fucking tell she’s lying. What the fuck is up with that? Isn’t she supposed to be the best liar? I look at her with a pained expression. 

"Even if that was true, it wouldn't make any difference. It’s taking you the same exact amount of time to turn me,” I argue. “ _ Every. Fucking. Time.”  _ I try to breathe normally, but I can’t. There’s this heat burning in my chest that I can’t aplacate with lies anymore. “I can’t do it."  _ Nothing is enough. _ "It doesn’t matter if I cover my ears, or if I think about something else, or if I try to fight it, it’s all the same. No matter what I do, I always end up....”

My voice breaks at the end of the sentence and fades into silence as I cry into my hands. I can’t fucking take it anymore. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m wasting time.” My words are muffled by my hands pressing to my mouth. It takes a minute for me to look at her, but even then, she doesn’t reply. “I’m sorry.” I say quietly. 

“What’s the alternative?” she asks. I shrug slightly. “You’ll just risk it? See what happens?”

“I don’t have a choice, Nat. I’m not getting any better. I have to accept that.” 

“You have time.” I huff.

"You don't get it, do you? Every minute, every  _ second  _ that passes, he could be doing stuff he'll regret for the rest of his life. Things that will haunt him forever. I can't let that happen."

"You don't even know if he'll listen to you." 

"I don't care, I  _ have _ to try. If all I have is the time it takes for him to say those words, then that’ll have to do.” 

"And are you willing to do what needs to be done if he doesn't come to his senses?" 

Her question compresses my chest even more, but I know that it's something I'll have to deal with, something that might actually happen. I think about it, about every shitty memory that I have of being the winter soldier, of every life I took, every heart I broke, every single time I wished someone had stopped me since I came back from that. I think about it and I sigh, trying hard to speak through the lump in my throat. 

"If I can't change him back, if I can't capture him or convince him, if there's  _ absolutely _ no other choice, then I  _ have  _ to stop him. He wouldn't want to be out there like this, I know that he'd rather…" my throat closes up around those awful words, so I keep quiet for a long moment, and eventually decide it doesn't need to be said. "I owe it to him. I owe him that and so much more."

\---

The next day I wake up to the sharp, intruding sound of the alarm on the nightstand. I turn it off, grab onto my head, preventing it from exploding  _ -at least that's how it feels-  _ and sit on the edge of the bed for a couple minutes. I'm seriously considering just lying back down and trying to sleep a few more hours, but I know it'd be to no use. I don't rest anymore, I just close my eyes and tune in to the nightmares. 

I take a quick shower and get out, looking for some air. The pressure in my head is rising by the minute, making it hard to think clearly. 

I stop by the kitchen to get something to drink, and then go straight to the room where we keep everything we're working on. I sit on top of the table with my legs crossed under myself, and stare at the wall as I open the bottle of whisky and take a swig. 

The wall is littered with the maps and blueprints I've drawn from memory. HYDRA's base in Siberia, with every single detail I could remember, down to the number of locks on each one of the doors. It'll all be useless if I don't learn to keep being myself long enough to be able to get him back. 

"You know that's not gonna make a difference, right?" Stark's voice doesn't startle me, but I don't welcome it either. I just want to be left alone right now, to wallow in the misery of my own ineptitude, drown in self pity. Maybe I should have taken some swimming lessons by now. 

"Yeah, well. Doesn't hurt to try," I reply, taking another swig. 

He shrugs, takes a glass from a nearby table and holds it up to me, staring stubbornly until I reluctantly pour a drink for him. 

"You remembered something else?" I shake my head while he approaches the map to inspect it. 

"Nothing new." I'm hoping my tone will be enough to drive him away, but it doesn't seem to be, because instead of leaving, we both look at the map in silence for too long. I drink again, willing it to make me feel better. It doesn't. 

"Nat tells me you want to get on with the hit to the Siberia base," he comments as if it wasn't a big deal. I look at him, trying to read his poker face, but I give up after a moment and just nod. "Are you even sure he'll be there?"

"Of course I am. I was one of them, remember? I know how they work, the way they think." My voice sounds so fucking bitter, I wouldn't even recognize it as the same voice that used to whisper sweet nothings into Steve's ears. I down half the bottle in one swig, forcing the memory down as far as I can. 

“Ever think you could be walking right into a trap?” I close my eyes and concentrate on the slight burn going down my throat. Truth is I don’t give a fuck anymore. I have no chance of saving him. No chance of bringing him back from it. Nat’s words have been bouncing inside my head all night, wrecking everything in their path. My own words aren’t any better.  _ ‘If I can't change him back, then I have to stop him’ _ . The thought alone is making me sick. I look at Stark for a long moment, and then just shrug.

“It could be,” I say simply, my voice low and raspy with the whisky. 

“Well, maybe you don’t care what happens, but I do. At least I care about what happens to the rest of us. We're not going in with a half assed plan.” 

“That’s why you shouldn’t come with me.” He rolls his eyes so dramatically I greet my teeth just to keep from telling him to fuck off. 

“OK, that’s it. I’m getting pretty sick of this self pity trip of yours. I'm gonna need you to grow a pair, pull your shit together, and come with me." He walks out, leaving me alone for a moment, completely baffled, and then I hear him raise his voice from the hallway. “Today, Sergeant!”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm so sorry for taking so long to write this. I'm working on the end, and didn't want to leave any loose ends (I'm going back and foward, making sure everything makes sense). I know it's a short chapter, but it was getting WAY too long, so I had to split it in two. You can expect the other half shortly :)

**Chapter 22**

“Step into my office,” Stark says when we get to the end of the hallway. The room is big, and it looks like some sort of lab. He sits behind a table as if it were a desk, and gestures for me to sit on the other side of it. I do, and we both stay quiet for a long moment before he starts speaking again. “You’re seriously considering this?” he asks, all mockery completely gone from his voice. I struggle to gather my thoughts and then leave out a big sigh. 

“I don’t know what else to do," I confess. "I can’t leave him there anymore. It’s been too long, I could justify it if I was making any progress, but practicing is useless.”  _ I’m useless.  _ I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and hiding my face on both my hands. Part of me knows that I shouldn’t be breaking down in front of him, but I can’t help it. I’m scared, lonely, frustrated and fucking hurt beyond what I thought it was possible. “If I could just get a couple of minutes with him before the words got to me, a chance to talk to him… maybe it could work. Maybe it’d be different this time.”

I breathe slowly, trying to regain some kind of composture, but I’m all over the place, a complete fucking mess… as usual. 

“I just don't understand why he wouldn't listen to me last time. I know they brainwashed him, but it's not like we don't have history.  _ He _ snapped  _ me  _ out of it. After 70 years of not seeing him, after  _ thousands _ of memory wipes” I’m just talking to myself at this point, just trying to get it off my chest, to see if I’ll stop feeling like there’s something rotten inside of me, but he answers anyway. 

“I've been thinking about that a lot, actually.” I look at him. 

“You have?” 

“Steve's-” 

“That's  _ not _ Steve,” I cut him off, but he dismisses my complaint with a wave of his hand. 

“Whatever you wanna call him, this… winter captain, I think they used something more powerful than what they used on you. We have to take into account the possible upgrades HYDRA could be making to their machinery."

"Upgrades?" I ask. He leans back on his chair, playing with his glass of whiskey. 

"They couldn't have used the same techniques they used on you, not so quickly at least. Convincing someone that they don't have a past, that they aren't  _ people… _ it takes time. The mind resists, tries to make sense of what it sees, tries to remember. Even more so in Steve's case, with the serum… different than  _ your _ serum because he's had it for so long. And if he didn't recognize you at all, I'm pretty sure they succeeded." I raise a hand to stop him. 

"He  _ did _ recognize me." I correct him. "Just not as  _ me _ , he called me Winter Soldier and immediately knew he was supposed to say my trigger words." 

This seems to throw him off his train of thought, because he looks at me for a moment, tilting his head slightly and squinting his eyes. 

"Were they able to do that before? Wiping certain parts of the memory, but not others?" I shake my head. 

"No, I think I might have been his target." I pause for a moment, and when I speak again, I can't force my voice to come out as more than a whisper. "After they use the machine and the words, they give you a file with the target.  _ The mission. _ They tell you what to do and give you some basic information to be able to do it. Name, address, course of action, possible complications…" 

"And you think that's what they did?" I shrug. 

"Don't really know what else they could've done. It fits the pattern." 

He doesn't really look satisfied with my explanation, and he falls silent for a few seconds. It's almost as if I could see the wheels turning in his brain but I also see the moment when he decides to drop it. He waves his hand dismissively, as if he's gone off topic without meaning to, and stands up, leaving his glass on a table by the wall. 

"Well, this is all very interesting, but I didn't bring you in here to have a chat." His tone is harsh again, so I lean back crossing my arms over my chest. 

"Why did you, then?"

"I've been watching your training sessions," he says, and waits for my reaction. There's none, because that's not new information for me. I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to train in this place. "Oh. I thought there was gonna be a bit more of a fuzz there." I shrug, I really couldn't care less at this point, so again, I keep quiet. "Ok, then. I noticed you were struggling to get better, so I made a little something for you." 

He walks back to me and sets two little things on the table in front of me. They look like earplugs. Small, light pink colored, new. 

"What are they?" 

"The chance you were asking for." I frown, but he keeps talking before I can ask what the hell he means. "It's a new pair of earpieces. They will emit a high frequency sound whenever someone says one of your words, blocking your ability to hear them, and effectively avoiding your brain's response. An upgrade of our own, if you will." 

I stare at the two little pieces of tech that rest on the table, trying to process his words. 

"Are you serious?" I ask, and he gestures to them as if he's saying 'see for yourself'. I slowly reach for one of them and look at it, being careful not to break it. If he's telling the truth, then he was right, they're my chance. The first real chance I have of bringing Steve back. "...Why?" I add quietly. My voice is weak, and it breaks in the little time it takes me to say that short word. He makes a face, as if my question took him by surprise. 

"Well, Cap hasn't been my favorite person in… basically never. But I don't want him to be where he is now. I think… I think nobody deserves that. So I'm calling a truce. I wanted to make a little contribution to the cause." I look at him, still frowning, trying to figure out if he's messing with me. 

"Can I?" I ask. 

"By all means." I put them on carefully. "You don't need to turn them on, they detect the contact of skin," he explains, and I nod. I can feel some sort of electricity crawling through my skin, but I know it has nothing to do with the actual effect of these things. It’s just the possibility slowly slipping into my head. This opens up a whole new path in front of me. One where Steve can actually be brought back. One where  _ I _ can bring him back. I contain a shiver.

There's a long moment in which we just stare at each other. I'm not sure if I should ask him to say one of my words, but I decide against it. If it doesn't work, he doesn't need to see me as the winter soldier again. I don't want him to. I know I’m still the one who killed his parents, but a part of me’d like to think that there’s a difference between me and the asset. 

"I'll go get Nat," I finally say, and he nods. 

"You do that." And then he takes the bottle of whiskey from where I left it. "And I'll hold on to this if you don't mind." 

"All yours." 

"Yeah, literally," he replies. For a second I feel like he's serious, but when he looks up from pouring himself a drink, there's amusement in his eyes. I start to leave, but turn around at the door and look at him for a second. 

"Thank you for doing this," I say, completely serious and a bit touched, and he raises his glass to me, as if he was toasting. I nod and get the hell away to go get Nat. 

\---

"OK, go." I say, and clench my fists in anticipation, but when she nods and starts moving her mouth, I can't hear what she's saying. The high pitch sound is constant and pretty annoying, but right now it sounds like sweet, sweet music. "I can't hear you," I say, completely baffled. 

"How about now?" my ears are still ringing, but her voice is clear. 

"Yeah, now I can," the smile on my face is absolutely inevitable. The sound comes back when she moves her mouth again, and I’m at the verge of tears. “Nothing,” I say, trying to wrap my head around it. 

My hands are shaking, so I put my fingers through my hair to keep them steady. 

“Do you know what this means?” I say to Nat, and her smile gets bigger, brighter. “I actually have a chance. I might be able to bring him home.” 

She comes closer, until she’s right in front of me, and puts both her hands on my shoulders while she looks at me.

“You will,” her voice is soft and strong at the same time, and I feel a tear rolling down my cheek. God, I’m a mess. She gives me a sweet smile, more sincere than anything I’ve seen on her face lately. 

\---

We train in fighting moves for a few hours, refreshing my defensive tactics. My style is pretty aggressive and I mostly focus on attacking, so a bit of training won’t do any harm. And aside from her amazing skills as a fighter, she's also the best at  _ avoiding  _ a fight, so she's by far the most qualified for the job. Most of her moves are ideal for keeping your opponent from using their strength, which is exactly what I'll need if I'm forced to fight Steve. 

"You're ready to do this?" she asks when we take a break, and I smile at her. 

_ "Hell, yeah!"  _ I leave out as I offer her a bottle of water. Truth is that I can't fucking wait. 

We agree to organize the last details in a meeting at sunset and we all get together in the break room, sitting around while Clint stands at the white board, writing our final contributions to the plan. Something tells me that that used to be Steve's job, and that stupid realization puts a knot in my throat. 

"Not a great plan," Stark says, and I cross my arms over my chest. What the fuck is he playing? He's the one that gave me the freaking word-blocking ear plugs. 

"It's the best plan we have. Face them head on, just like in Finland." I say. "Strike hard and fast, find Steve, talk him out of it, get out as soon as we can." Stark is shaking his head before I even finish talking. 

"Even with the ear pieces, I doubt that talking to him will bring him back. You said it yourself, he wouldn't listen to you."

"What do you mean?" Nat's voice is clearer than mine could be right now. She's leaning against a wall, arms and legs crossed. Like always, she seems calm and collected… and  _ completely  _ lethal, even when she's not trying to show it. 

"They couldn't have used the same treatment they used on him," he points at me like I'm not even there, and I grit my teeth. "The serum was administered long before they got their hands on him, so his brain structure is not the same as his was when they caught him," he's still talking about me. 

"You know I'm still here, right?" I say, but he dismisses my complaint with a wave of his hand. I'm about to reply, but Clint beats me to the punch. 

"What do you think we should do, then?" 

"Slow down, think of an actual plan, maybe put up a couple of cameras in the place, figure out what they're up to."

"I've told you. I can't leave him there any longer," I reply. 

“So you’re willingly forcing us to go in blindly,” he retorts. I lock my jaw and speak through clenched teeth. 

“I’m not forcing anyone to do anything. I’ve told every one of you, time and time again, that I can do this by myself.  _ Hell, I want  _ to do this by myself. You just won’t listen.” 

“That’s just a convoluted suicide plan, and you know it. You have a death wish and don’t give a fuck if you take the rest of us with you,” I stand up to face him, blood boiling. The words are bubbling up in my throat because I’ve fucking had it with him, but Sam stops me before I can take a single step. He puts a hand in my chest rather gently and I fight the urge to get him out of my way. 

Sam looks at Stark, shooting him a questioning look and the asshole shrugs, so Sam turns back to me, searching for my eyes, but I can’t tear them from that smug little- 

_ “Calm down,”  _ he says quietly. “You  _ know  _ he’s testing you,” after a moment, I finally look at Sam. I breathe deeply a few times, willing myself to listen to him, to do as he’s asking. I can hear the mechanisms in my arm settling down as I force myself to unclench my fist. A moment goes by in silence as I get myself under control. I nod to Sam, and he takes his hand away. I sit back down. 

"Are you  _ sure _ we can't capture him?" Clint asks, and I’m finally able to truly take my mind off of Stark, horrified at the mere idea of trying to take him against his will. 

"We all have strict orders of avoiding being captured at all costs. He'll kill himself before we can get him out of the facility." A shiver goes down my back. 

"What if we drug him?" Nat suggests, but I shake my head. 

"HYDRA pumps its soldiers with enough drugs to keep them running for weeks, anything we give him could cause an overdose and kill him. I can't take that chance." 

A few moments go by in silence, and I know they're trying to think of another way. I clench my teeth, because we don't have time for this. 

"I'm telling you: Our best shot is to talk him out of it," I assure them. 

"I still think we'll need something more than that," Stark spits, and I snap at him. 

"Then tell me what. Give me an option that won't end up killing him, and I'll be the first to praise you for it. Tell me what it is that we need to do and I'll do it, I'll be the one who marches right in there and unbrainwash him,  _ just tell me how. Please."  _ I feel my eyes starting to sting, and I clench my fists in an effort to keep my nerves as collected as possible. My words seem to take him aback a bit, because he takes a moment to reply. 

"I don't know yet," he answers quietly. I close my eyes for a few seconds and realize that I had hope. I  _ wanted _ him to find another way. I speak quietly too, willing my voice not to break. 

"Then stay the fuck out of my way."

\---

I guess it's safe to say that the trip could be qualified as awkward. No big surprises there. 

Given his reluctant attitude to this whole idea, I'm surprised Stark is even on board of the aircraft. I wasn’t expecting him to come at all, but maybe he’s here to keep an eye on the rest of the team. Nat and Clint aren’t as prepared for this environment as the rest of us, so he knows the more help we get, the safer they’ll be. 

The jet stops a fair distance away, but not enough to take Nat and Clint completely off the fight. The cold wouldn't forgive them for long, so we gotta keep the distances short and the approach fast. When the engine stops, the drill is pretty much the same as in Finland. Stark gets his suit, the rest of us prepare for the attacks getting weapons of our own. Nat lets me use hers again. 

“We’re half a mile away from the main entrance.” He sounds so fed up with everything, for a moment I’m afraid he won’t be up to the task, but I immediately push the thought out of my mind. Steve used to work with these guys, and that means they have moral standards, they follow a code. They have each other’s backs. Otherwise, Stevie wouldn’t have worked with them at all. “Everybody remember what you’re supposed to do?” We all make affirmative sounds. “Good. Incoming. Twenty on the front, six on each side, 10 and 2 o’clock.”

The Siberia facility is the only one that I remember to be different from the rest. All the others were always cut from the same cloth, but not this one. It doesn't really matter, every single detail is edged into my brain, and the team studied my notes and drawings more than thoroughly. 

HYDRA's strategy hasn't changed one bit. They send the disposable soldiers first. We take them out in less than two minutes. They're just cannon fodder. 

Then out come the experienced soldiers. Some of them I remember. I've seen them before. I've passed them by in some empty hallways, when everything was quiet, or stood beside them as we fought, tortured and murdered innocent people. My skin crawls with the memory. 

I know I'm a hypocrite, because I'm just as guilty as they are, but seeing their faces again, knowing that they had a say in the matter, a  _ choice _ , it makes my blood boil. I double my efforts to get rid of them as quickly as possible, but then the real threat walks out. The heavy artillery: tanks, bombs, metahumans and the other winter soldiers. They're here. Awake and ready. 

They're wearing masks, much like the one I used to wear, but I look for  _ him _ among them, trying to recognize his frame. He's nowhere to be seen. 

"Careful with the ones in dark blue tactical vests, they're winter soldiers.  _ Do not  _ underestimate them," I warn the team, and they all make noises of acknowledgement and agreement. They know the risks, we've talked about them over and over again, their abilities and their weaknesses, the way they work and the way they fight. 

"I don't see him anywhere," Sam tells me, as if he could read my mind. He’s got eyes in the air. 

"Me neither. I'll get inside, see if I can find any information about where he is." They're all too busy to reply, but I know they heard me. I get going anyway, because if by some miracle he's on suspended animation, I'll be able to take him with me  _ almost _ with no risks. I can convince him that I’m not the enemy, get to him before they can recondition him completely again. 

I get inside the building without anyone noticing, and slip past the trembling low level soldiers that are waiting for the inevitable intrusion. They don't have the information I need, and are not worth my time. Every clock in my head is ticking. 

The guard room is fairly easy to find. I've never been here before, but I remember passing it by on my way to report the results of my missions. The room is empty, but all the monitors are still showing the images of what's going on in the building and the surrounding areas. The battle is harsh, but everyone in the team is holding their own. 

"Still no insight on where he is," I say, mostly to myself. I can see them fighting on the monitors. They’re concentrated, but I know they’ll be able to handle it. 

"I guess Princess Peach is not in this castle." I frown at Stark’s words.

“Don’t worry, Bucky, I’m sure we’ll find him,” Nat says before I can reply to whatever the hell Stark was talking about. 

“I’ll keep looking for a little while,” I tell them, but no one answers anymore. I can see everyone is completely focused on the fight, and I quickly decide to leave them alone. I know damn well that breaking someone's concentration mid fight can easily get them injured or killed. Last thing I need is to get another one of the avengers out of the game. I sit in the guard’s chair and look blankly at the screens for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do next. I was so sure he’d be here, so sure I’d finally find him. Now I don’t know what else to do. What’s the next move?  _ Where the hell do I go from here? _

I get up, looking at the sets of keys hanging on the board. There’s got to be a file room in here somewhere, and there  _ has  _ to be information about his location. They wouldn’t keep a soldier that important off the records. Wouldn’t be their style. I’m going through the papers on the desk, looking for some intel, and then I see it, out of the corner of my eye: a running figure escaping through the tunnels.

I walk back and get my face closer to the screen. I could recognize him immediately, even if he was wearing a mask, but there’s no need. No question or doubt.  _ It’s him. _ Plain and simple. Couldn’t have been easier. The wheels turn in my head as I understand it. They cleared a path for me. No guards, no obstacles, no lock doors. The monitors still turned on, the cameras still working. They  _ want  _ it to be easy. They want me to follow him, for him to get to me alone, and I know it. 

So when I get myself out the door, I  _ know damn well  _ I'm walking right into a trap This is  _ exactly _ what they want.... and I couldn't care less. He might be waiting for me, but I'm prepared to face him this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short spoiler so that you won't hate me so much: Steve is coming back in the next one ♥ Hope you're all doing great and (if you celebrate) Happy Hollidays! (If you don't:) Happy weekend! ♥


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!!! I know it's been a few days, but this is the first time I post in 2021, so... Happy new year!!! I hope you're all doing great :)

I know I don't need to hurry, because he'll be waiting for me at the end of the tunnel, anyway. And I don't need to worry about catching him either, because I know they'll give me a hint if I lose his tracks. But off course, knowing that doesn't keep my heart from lodging painfully in my throat, making it hard to breathe. 

My own footsteps are quiet, and all I can hear in the tunnel are the muffled sounds of the battle happening on the surface. It feels like it’s miles away. Judging by the amount of time it takes me to get to the end of the tunnel, maybe it is.

The fucking door is open, for crying out loud. Every single instinct in me is  _ screaming  _ for me to get out, to run far from here and come back another day… and yet my feet keep moving, getting me closer and closer to him. 

I peak inside. The place is huge, poorly illuminated, and he’s the only person in it. 

"Steve…" I say, but I'm pretty sure he reacts to my presence, and not his own name. He shoots without a second of hesitation and I dodge the bullet by an inch, quickly hiding behind a column. 

"I need you to stand down, OK?" my voice is loud, even though I'm doing my best to sound calm, but when I peek at him, he shoots again. I can hear him silently approaching, and I take him by surprise when I round the column and kick his gun away. 

It doesn't matter, all it takes is one quick move on his part for another one to replace it. I feel the sting in the right side of my chest and fall back from the blow, swiping him off his feet with my leg when he comes at me ready to shoot again. The shot misses my heart, but gets in my right arm, piercing right through it. Luckily, the adrenaline is doing its job. I can barely feel the pain. 

I get on my feet before he does, and go for the gun, but as I kick it away, I realize I'm way too close to him. He cuts my leg and I get away as quickly as possible, not giving him a chance to do more. 

We stand opposite to each other, in a cruel twisted parody of the times we used to practice in the gym. Except now his stare is vacant and it's hard to picture a smile in his face. Everything about his body language tells me he's expecting me to attack him. 

"You know me," I say, but he doesn't answer. We've done this twice before, except now I'm the one who knows who we both are, what we mean to each other. I remember what it feels like to be in his place. He can't tell, he's too far gone to feel anything, but I need to try. He did it for me, he brought me back. "To the end of the line, remember?" he doesn't even flinch.

I see his lips moving and hear the awful ringing sound covering his words. Stark's invention is doing its job. I shake my head. "That won't work anymore", I say quietly, because I don't like the sound, and he stops, tilting his head to the side. "Concentrate on your breathing and try to listen to me, OK?  _ Try _ to remember", he comes at me again, eyes cold as ice, but now that there's no guns involved, I have an advantage: I know his moves. Even with the knife in his hand, I can anticipate what he'll do. I  _ know _ him. 

I block three jabs and he tries to stab me on the ribs, but I deviate the knife and he ends up cutting my side, barely breaking the skin. Two of his kicks and then another jab. He's become predictable to me, but I quickly verify he has no idea about how I fight. Part of me wishes he'd remember. 

I dig my knee to his side and push him away when he loses his balance. Two moves to get him away from me. Maybe I  _ do _ have a chance, maybe I have the upper hand. All I need is to buy enough time to get him to listen to me. 

“The orders they gave you. You don’t have to follow them. Nothing will happen if you don’t, you don’t need to go back." He flips his knife and looks at me with a blank look, as if he’s waiting for me to make my move. “Your name is Steve. Steve Rogers." I keep expecting him to have  _ some  _ reaction to his own name, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even blink. I feel the knot in my throat getting bigger. Maybe he’s further gone than I ever was. 

This time he tries using kicks, and gets me a few times as he bounces through the room, using the walls to gain momentum. I roll to the side to dodge him, and then cut off his next stunt with a kick to the chest. He hits the wall behind him. Everything I'm doing is to get him to stop, to force him to listen, but it still feels wrong. I promised myself that I would never hurt him again. 

That's his advantage over me. He's not trying to restrain himself. He's not holding anything back. He's using all his speed, all his force, all his tricks. But I can't do the same. He's still in there. 

He comes back stronger, faster, angrier. The vacant stare on his face makes him look like a completely different person. So far from the kid that used to care about everyone, from the man that used to care about me. I think I've never seen him like this before. 

"Stevie. Wake the fuck up," I say, getting frustrated. Why was he able to snap me out of it? Why can't I do the same? 

He goes for an ongoing attack, forcing me to back up until my back hits the wall. I dodge a direct blow to the face that leaves a crater on the bricks, and sneak out under his arm. I turn the both of us, pushing him against the wall, all in the same movement. Now I'm pinning him with my left arm on his throat and my right one keeping him from moving the knife, and he  _ growls  _ at me. That's good, I want him to feel something,  _ anything _ , and frustration might be good enough. 

The ringing sound comes back. He's trying to turn me again. I tighten my hold on him a little bit, until his mouth stops moving. "I told you, it won't work," he looks at me with what I can only assume is anger, and I let go of him, fall back a bit and try a different approach. Maybe I can still convince him, even without getting him to remember me. "I used to be like you, but I got away. You can do it too."

"I'm not a traitor," he says, his voice cold and almost unrecognizable. The sound takes me by surprise, freezing me in place, and he immediately takes advantage of that. The full-force punch to my face is followed by him grabbing my left arm. I push him away, but not before he has enough time to slap it quickly with his other hand. I only realize he did something to it when it gets limp and useless on my side.  _ Fuck.  _

There's something interfering with its circuits, and it hurts like hell. He comes at me quickly, not giving me time to inspect it, but I manage to shake him off using my right arm. Now I  _ need _ to use all my strength, if I hold anything back, he'll kill me in a heartbeat. 

I consider running, getting away to be able to fight another day, but there's two flaws in that plan. One: I'm pretty sure he won't let me get away right now. And two: even if I'd find a way, I would be leaving him behind. I'd be leaving him right on HYDRA's claws. They'd punish him for not completing his mission. They'd hurt him even more. 

I get him on the ground by sweeping my foot under him, and then messing up his landing when he jumps. I've done that to him before. Stevie would've known how to avoid it. 

It takes a few seconds for him to get up, and I seize the time to inspect the arm. He plastered something to it and I quickly remove it, using my other hand. As soon as I do, the pain diminishes, and I regain control of my fingers. 

He comes at me again, and I dodge him one more time, using my numbed arm to shield myself from his knife and pushing him to get him away from me. I don’t want to fight him anymore, but he doesn’t seem to accept that. The brainwashing and the promise of a swift terrible punishment in case of failure can do that to someone, I should know. “Please, just stop. Come back to me, you can do this." I bite my tongue when I notice I said 'please'. If everything goes wrong, I don't want him to think that I begged him for my life. God knows it's not my own life that I'm worried about. 

He leaves out another frustrated growl and goes for my upper body with the knife. I shield my head instinctively, and realize too late that I left my lower half exposed. Way too late. 

I feel the punch to my side long before I feel the knife.  _ Shit _ . I mean to push him away again, but now his footing is way better than mine, and I end up pushing myself away from him instead. I hit a wall and lean on it to keep myself on my feet. Luckily, he seems to be hesitating a bit, so I can check my wound. It doesn't look good. 

"Steve," I say again, and now I know that I'm probably not gonna make it. Do I even want to make it anymore? The thought of them torturing him because I got away is starting to get overwhelming. 

_ 'You have a death wish,' _ Stark's words resound in my head, completely humiliating. Was he right? I shake the thought out of my head. 

"You can do this, trust me." He charges again and this time I grab his hand with my metal one. The block is perfect, not too far back that he could let go of the knife, not too forward that he could slide the blade on the metal. He struggles to get it closer to me, but my arm is doing its job. The damage to it doesn't seem to be permanent. It makes sense, they were planning on getting their winter soldier back. 

I look at him, trying to find some clue that he's still in there, but he doesn't seem to be. One of the side effects of the serum is the enhanced memory, and although he doesn't remember anything right now, I know first hand that the machine can't suppress that for long. Someday, when he breaks free and remembers who he is, he'll slowly regain all his memories. He'll remember  _ all of this _ . Frame by frame in excruciating detail. I don't envy what he'll have to go through, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't want to trade places with him. 

I manage to take the knife and I throw it away before he can avoid it, but his elbow meets my face a couple of times while I do it. And then he punches me in the bullet wound in my chest. I don't want to fight him anymore. I don't want to hurt him. 

His knee hits my side and I feel the knife wound opening and the air leaving me. I push him away using my metal arm while hooking my foot on his knee. I successfully get him to the floor one more time, and I seize the few seconds that gives me to put pressure on my side. The blood is going down my leg. It's way too much for me to recover if I don't stop it. 

It seems to take longer for him to get up, and I think he might have remembered, but when he does, our eyes meet again and they're not  _ my _ Steve's eyes. 

"It's OK," I say. I'm so tired, and I know he'll remember this when they manage to bring him back. Because I know they will. I have to believe that. "It's OK. I know this isn't you." It's a losing battle, and the truth is that I don't really want to win it. Not if that means that I have to take him down. Not if I have to go on without him afterwards. I try to smile because I want him to know that I'm making a decision. This is my choice. I choose him. Always him. 

"Don't worry. I remember who you are," I say, and he comes closer, hitting me again. I turn away from the wall and try to fight him as best as I can without giving back the blows. I manage to keep it up for a moment, but not for long. I don't know if they enhanced him or if I'm just worn out. It doesn't really matter anymore. 

I fall to my knees when one of his kicks takes me by surprise, and then fall even lower when he hits me again. I block a kick, shielding my face with my arm and he pulls it away, bending it backwards. The pain eats at the joints, but I do my best not to complain. I know that if I do, those sounds will hunt him for the rest of his life. Now that my arm is out of the way, he goes for another kick. This time it lands full on my face. 

I fly back and land face up on the floor. I swallow the metallic taste of my own blood because I don't want him to see it. "I don't blame you." I say right before he kicks me again, this time on my side. The knife wound gets worse, and I know I'm losing too much blood. It doesn't matter anymore, I'm not planning on coming back from this one. 

"I still love you," I say, because he's not stopping, and I know I won't be able to hold on for much longer. My time is running out. He walks away for a moment and I realize he's going for the knife. I can't find the will to get up. But maybe that's good, maybe it'll be better for him if it's quick. Maybe it'll be better for the both of us. "I still love you. I always have," I repeat, looking at the ceiling. My voice is starting to get weaker. 

Again, I remember when we were on opposite sides of this fight.  _ 'Then finish it. Because I'm with you to the end of the line.'  _ He seemed so sure that I would stop. So sure that he would get through to me… now I know I won't. I'm not good enough. I close my eyes at the memory. 

"I'm sorry." I manage to get out. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring you back" I can't suppress a cough that stains the floor red. 

He straddles my stomach and brings the knife up to my jaw while his other hand grabs my throat. My metal hand blocks the knife out of pure survival instinct. The sharp end is pressed against me now, trying to push its way into the skin of my neck. 

I look at him and try to picture him the way he used to be, the way he really is. Kind and caring. I remember the scrawny kid who used to have my back, and the loving man who will always have my heart. I close my eyes, trying to retreat to a nicer memory, but still struggling to keep the knife away. I remember the time when he said goodbye to me, when I was going to fight in the war, the way he hugged me and the concerned look in his eyes. I smile, because at least I have that to hold on to. "Don't do anything stupid when I'm gone," I say and it feels like a nice goodbye. A proper one. 

I sigh and then allow my hand to let go of the knife, but it stays still against my neck. I open my eyes, but although I can see some confusion, I know that he's not himself. I frown. If he's not Steve, then why did he stop? He looks at me for a long moment and then forcefully turns my head to one side. 

He takes the hearing device Stark gave me, and I close my eyes again. That's the only thing holding together the last pieces of me, but he's got me pinned down, and he could easily choke me if he wanted to. Why doesn't he? 

_ “Longing, _ " he says again, and I try not to hear it, but this time I know it won't work. I'm doomed. Not even allowed to die as myself.  _ "Rusted, furnace.”  _ He doesn't let go of my neck, and I'm not sure if I want him to. I try to convince myself that this is the easy way out. I won't even feel it when I bleed out... But I know it's not true. The only thing I had going for me was that I was able to get over all of that. That I learned to be myself again. I don't want him to take that away from me in my last minutes. 

_ "Daybreak, seventeen." _ Why wouldn't he just finish it? Can't he see I'm not fighting anymore? I open my eyes to look at him.

"Just kill me," I say quietly, voice raspy as it passes through my throat. His grasp on my neck is not allowing much air to go through it. 

_ "Benign. Nine.”  _ Why can't I die in peace with my memories? Why does he have to take those away too?  _ "Homecoming," _ I try to hold on to them, but I can feel them slipping away. It won't even matter in a second. 

This time I'm too hurt, too tired, too eager to let go of the control. I'm defeated, way beyond what I ever thought was possible. So I just close my eyes again and let the words take over me. I let the winter soldier free.

_ "One. Freight car."  _

Everything turns hazy again, and I know that I failed. 

\---

My superior is standing silently beside me, looking at me from above, and I struggle to get on my feet. I notice right away that there's something seriously wrong with me. I'm hurt. I sneak a look at myself as I'm standing, and the wounds look bad.  _ Really _ bad. My energy is running low, but I manage to get myself up right.

_ "Ready to comply, _ " I speak Russian but he replies in English. 

"What do you know about me?" I look at him briefly and immediately recognize his face. 

"Steven Grant Rogers," the name causes an itch in my tongue, but I clear my throat trying not to be too obvious about it. "Born on july 4th, 1918, in New York City. Also known as Captain America. Served in World War II in favor of the allies and against the nazis. Frozen in ice for nearly 70 years, to be found, woken and recruited by the organization SHIELD. You became a crucial part of the team of vigilantis known as 'The Avengers'."

“That’s not true. Any of it." I check his face again, because I need to verify. My vision is blurry, but I know I’m right. 

“That’s the information I have." I say, eyes front again. He may take it as a sign of disrespect, but I can’t lie. I know there’s no way to get out of this conversation unharmed. He doesn’t like what I'm saying, and either way, if he asks, I have to say it.

"Who ordered you to lie?" 

"I'm not lying." He growls really quietly. "Tell me who gave you that information." I think about it, about how I know those things about him. And I realize no one did. At least not in the sense he's asking. I just  _ know _ , the information is just…  _ there. _ A part of me. "I didn't get the information from anyone in particular, Sir."

"How did you get it?" 

"I…" I frown. 

"You what?" he presses. 

"I know you," I finally say, and I feel just as confused as he looks. 

I wait for a punishment that doesn’t come. “Who ordered you to come here?" I dig in my memories again, trying to remember if there’s any orders, but can’t find them. 

"No one." He doesn’t like this answer either. 

"Tell me who sent you here." I don’t know how I can be any clearer. 

"I came here answering to no one."

"Why?" I try to find the reason in my brain. 

"To get you back, Sir." 

"Why? Who wanted me back?" I prepare myself for a punch, because he's raising his voice, but I can’t keep quiet. The need to answer with the truth is unbearable. 

"I did," I answer, and I notice that my voice is getting thinner, weaker. I know I'm bleeding out, but I can't say anything about it unless he addresses the issue explicitly. Still, I can't help closing my eyes for a few seconds. 

"Stop lying. Tell me who wanted me back." I think it over. 

"A lot of people, Sir." 

"And who gave you the orders?" 

"No one. I came here of my own accord." Why isn't he torturing me? Is that the reason I'm wounded? I remember that we fought. He was about to kill me. Why hasn't he? He even allowed me to stand up, to stay on my feet. Or is that part of the torture? 

"Who am I?" 

"You're Steve." 

"No, I'm not! Tell me what you really know about me!" I search my brain for information and the words start pouring out of my mouth. 

"You…" I start, but then fall silent. The information going through my mind is irrelevant, useless. The memories are disjointed. 

"Tell me what you know about me," he insists, so I start talking again. 

"You drink your coffee black, one sugar," I say, and think about him standing in the bright morning light, leaning against something while drinking coffee and reading the paper. "You use ink to do the Sunday crossword," in the memory he's smiling at me, he caught me staring and he laughs shyly. I remember the urge to get up and hug him and another memory forces its way into my head, one of me hugging him from behind while he's doing something, we're swaying to the notes he's humming. "You hum when you do the dishes," I say out loud, closing my eyes. 

Is it really him? He looks so different. Why is he in my head like that? "You like soft music and sketch small drawings when you think no one is watching." The images of him just keep coming, so out of context that some of them make me dizzy. Everything's scrambled and it doesn't make sense, but it's not the first time I've felt this way, that much I know. 

He's not saying anything, and I think that maybe I'm talking about the wrong things, maybe he's asking about  _ how  _ he is, and not what he likes or the things he does, so I try to give him better information. How is he? A somber night comes to mind, one where I'm talking about him with other people. The things they say echo in my head. 

"Everybody thinks that you only see the good in people, but that's not really true," I offer. "You see the good  _ and _ the bad, and choose to give them a chance anyway," there's a pause when I stay silent, and I open my eyes to see if that was what he wanted to hear. 

“Who are you?” He whispers, his eyes wide, and this answer is automatic, inevitable. 

“Winter Soldier number one. Ready to comply." My right hand is shaking, and the cold is starting to settle on my bones. I’m done for. It’s only a matter of time now. 

He looks at me with his brow furrowed, and I don’t need him to punch me to fall. My legs give in, and now I’m on my knees. He crawches, lowering himself to my level, puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me upright and looks at me in a way that feels familiar, in a way that makes him look a bit more like the man in those memories… but just as he’s about to speak, I can hear the words through his earpiece, spoken in clear russian. 

_ ‘Captain. Report’ _ , the voice orders, but he stays quiet, looking at me for a long moment. His gaze bounces back and forth between his own hand -still settled on my shoulder- and my face. 

_ ‘Captain. Report, immediately!’  _ The voice sounds angry, and his eyes well up. He’s right. He should be afraid. Why wouldn’t he obey? 

“Who are you?” he whispers again, but then the voice says something else.  _ ‘Inadequate'.  _ At first I think it's an insult, but then it adds ' _ Jester', and _ I recognize the effect. I’ve watched them recondition the other winter soldiers enough times to know what’s happening. They’re his trigger words. ' _ Accountable’ _

"My name is James Buchanan Barnes," I say quietly, because I just found it in my memories, and I can't leave the question unanswered. He looks at me again, and I can see fear in his eyes… but there's also a trace of something else. Something that looks a lot like recognition. His mouth falls open, but the words continue, and he closes his eyes against them.  _ 'Train' _ , they say. 

I've seen this too, I've felt it: he's trying to fight them.  _ ‘Fallen'.  _ His eyes go blank for a second, and his hands fall to his sides, shaking. "No," he whispers, and the fear settles in his eyes again. His breath is jagged and I see the pure terror in the way he looks at me.  _ 'Longing',  _ they say. His hands are still shaking and he falls to his knees. He no longer seems able to move. 

"Bucky," he whispers between clenched teeth, and my head snaps back up. I hadn't realized I'd been gradually losing my strength, falling slowly to the floor. _'Collateral'_. The name he said brings back the memories, one by one: all the times he's said my name before. He's said it in whispers, and he's yelled it, I've heard it rapped in moans and between tears, interrupted by sobs. 

' _ Paria',  _ the voice continues, and I fight to find the strength to move my left arm. It seems heavier than usual, but I manage to clumsily take it to the side of his head and rip off the intercom he's wearing. I crush it between my fingers and wait for him to come back. I've done this before, but I know that it's his first time. It'll take a while for him. 

Unfortunately, I can tell I don't have a while. 

My head's about to explode, and I can't feel my hands or feet anymore. The pain is taking over everything else. But a strange feeling is flooding me. I'm…  _ content. _ This is what I wanted. 

_ He'll be OK. _

I can leave with my memories warming my thoughts, and with the certainty that he'll find his way back to who he was. His eyes find mine again and I do my best to give him a smile. I hope he knows that I love him, that I'm OK with this as long as he's alright. And he will be. He'll be himself again. 

_ He'll be free. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me! For what it's worth, I'm so sorry! Only one more chapter to go, and then the epilogue! Thanks for reading, and I hope you're all doing great!! :)


End file.
